


Unbecoming Behavior

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Smallville
Genre: Anal, Fluff, Furry, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, fairy tale, m/m slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Clex, Beauty and the Beast style. Because I love repeating myself and abusing classic fairy tales.</p><p>Author's Note: Yes, yes, yes, I KNOW I already did this with White Rose, my X-Men AU piece, but I love stories of redemption. Beauty saves the Beast, in my opinion, not the other way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Furry smut ahead. Be warned. Lots of angst, too, because Clex.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Smallville fandom. These characters aren't mine, and I make no money for writing this fiction.

Clark was so absorbed in the red, leatherbound book that he didn't hear his father tell him to put out the lantern until the third time. 

"It's bedtime, Clark," Jonathan barked from the doorway. "Don't waste good oil. The book can wait 'til tomorrow." 

"I can't put it down, Pa." 

"You'll have to try harder. Don't keep your sisters up, son." 

"I need my beauty rest, you brat! Put out that light!" Feyora bellowed from the tiny bedroom across the hall that she shared with Kara and Karen, his twin sisters. As the only male child in the house, Clark had the only single room in the family's modest house, even though it didn't feel any bigger than a breadbox. Clark easily stood six-foot-three inches tall in his stocking feet. The glow from his lantern flickered dimly against the walls, offering very little light, certainly not enough through the crack of his door to disturb his sisters' sleep. Trust Feyora to raise a stink... 

"You sure do," Clark snarked. "Let me hurry up and put it out." 

"I hate you." Feyora's squint was full of acid. She turned on her heel and went back to bed. 

"Stop teasing your sister." Jonathan's eyes still held a glint of amusement, despite his mouth's thin, flat line. "We have an early morning, son. Even if you don't need as much rest as we do." 

"G'night, Pa." Jonathan clapped his son on the back fondly as Clark inserted a scrap of paper into his book to mark his place before putting it away. He waited for his father to make his way back to his room before extinguishing his light. All of the Kent children were bright, but Clark was addicted to books, to the knowledge and adventures that spilled from their pages. Those rare moments between chores would find him nose-deep in a novel or history book, slim volume of poetry or language primer. Jonathan had withdrawn him from school much sooner than he would have liked, but Clark forgave him for it, knowing that he couldn't conscionably wile away his hours in a schoolhouse while his father worked his fingers to the bone at his meager vendor's stand. 

Clark adored his father and wouldn't take selfish advantage of him, even though Jonathan felt horrible that Clark wouldn't meet his academic potential, compromising any chance he had of ever making a life grander than what they had on their modest farm. 

Clark was nothing if not flexible. He'd grown used to carrying the burden of being the only son in a family of girls. Unlike his sisters, however, Clark didn't have a capricious bone in his body, nor was he a narcissist, unlike his eldest sister, Feyora, who was the epitome of domineering conceit. The twins had a tendency to be selfish and lazy, but not necessarily spiteful. Clark had a hand in taking care of them even though he was the youngest, roles easily reversed as they proved themselves unwilling to take anything resembling responsibility. 

Clark missed their mother's laughter and gentleness sorely. So did Jonathan, at a total loss as to how to dispose of three daughters as he tried to manage their farm and sell his wares in the bustling village slightly to the west. 

* 

Clark was loyal to his father, despite that he didn't sire him from his own loins. Clark was a foundling, squalling from within the folds of Jonathan's hastily bundled coat when he met Martha back at the house. It was love at first sight when she took the snuffling, red-faced infant and gently rocked him, taking in the tiny, perfectly formed features. 

"Where did you find him?" She didn't look up from his sweet face, could only stroke the soft cap of black curls. Jonathan scratched his neck, shaking his head and offering her a baffled smile. 

"In the field." 

"What lunatic would leave a sweet baby out in the open, and on a night like this?" Pounding rain and gale winds lashed the house. Feyora stood on tiptoe, tugging Martha's sleeve and beckoning to her to show her their tiny houseguest. She pulled a sour face. "He's all wrinkly." 

"No, sweetheart. He's beautiful." Martha cooed and gently swayed with him and gave the twins the chore of rummaging through their trunks for hand-me-downs and baby blankets. Her tiny charge protested being unwrapped from his makeshift swaddling and gently bathed. Jonathan chuckled as he watched from the kitchen table, sipping a mug of tea. 

"You've made him mad, dear." 

"No, I've made him clean. Smells sweet as a rose." Martha buried her nose in his neck and smiled, and it dawned on Jonathan that Martha wasn't interested in finding out where the baby came from. 

"He has parents, dear." 

"He does, now," she corrected him. "What's one more mouth to feed?" 

"Expensive!" He retorted, and he recoiled at the sharp look she gave him. He tried a different tack. "He could be sick. Who knows how long he was outside, exposed?" He said nothing of the strange, metallic object that he found him in, a domed capsule that slid open as soon as Jonathan laid his hand against its reflective surface. He gazed down in awe at the child that yawned and hiccuped at him, not enjoying the chilly night air before he waved his tiny fists and shrieked. His protective instincts took over after one glance around the field told him the baby had been alone for some time. 

Martha argued him into submission when he tried to tell her that they should ask around the village about a missing baby. The little rascal in question chipped away at Jonathan's misgivings easily, with his pleasant nature and addictive giggles, and then how could he turn little Clark away? 

They visited the village recorder's office and informed them that Martha adopted her sister's child after they lost her in a freak accident. Wagon lost a wheel, veered right through the rails along the bridge and plunged into the icy river. Tragic, indeed. 

* 

Jonathan was a simple man, and he wasn't given to envying the good fortune of others. Sadly, when bad luck hit him, it hit all at once. He'd no sooner buried his sweet wife before a wild storm swept along the shore, leaving devastation and ruin in its wake. Many trade ships were lost, including his own merchant ship carrying all of the fine silks, jewelry, perfumes, spices and other goods whose sale would out good on the Kents' table. The words sounded hollow to him, and he could only nod and ignore the ache in his chest when the harbor master gave him the news. 

Jonathan was reeling, destitute now, as well as widowed. Clark wouldn't add to his father's burdens by complaining if his clothing needed a little mending or when he outgrew it too quickly; he learned at his mother's elbow how to let down hems and repair tears, taking over the mending basket as it filled up when Feyora ignored it. 

Clark improvised with what simple food they had, rescuing pots from burning whenever Kara or Karen wandered away from the stove to gossip or groom themselves. Clark was the one who climbed the ladder and patched the roof, milked the cows, harvested the apples from their meager orchard, fed the chickens, pushed the plow and planted the seed. The time outdoors agreed with him, endowing him with robust health and great strength. Clark drank in the nourishing sunshine and all of his physical gifts flourished in ways most wouldn't guess. He was a remarkable young man, indeed. It was no surprise that he would come to be coveted so highly, and ripped so completely away from all he knew. 

* 

The walls and portraits seemed to mock him as he crept down the corridor, his thickly padded soles barely stirring the rugs. His heavy robe swished around his legs with his movements, holding his slightly musky scent in its folds; he owned countless trunks of clothing, but the thought of making any selections from it was moot, when no one ever visited the estate. Not if they were wise. 

He made his way downstairs and wandered into his solarium, squinting at the brightness. His slitted pupils allowed him sharp night vision, but he shunned brightly lit spaces for the most part, avoiding any opportunity to cast a shadow or catch his reflection in any gleaming surface. The night his life changed, he crouched trembling in rage and horror, warm and sticky blood coursing down his arms from his fists, hundreds of cuts dashed over his flesh as he shattered one mirror after another, unwilling to accept the lies they told him. 

He was thirsty. As if the house sensed his needs, a hot cup of jasmine tea materialized on the side table. He looped one furry, taloned finger through its delicate handle and sipped, breathing in its fragrant steam. The wind outside picked up, rustling the trees and making them sway. The air smelled like rain. Rain. His life had changed so much on that rainy night. Alex sighed and let himself out through the brass-handled door. He strode through his garden, approaching the pristine white roses that lined the path paved with gray stones. Alex inhaled their sweetness for a moment, then continued his stroll, waiting for the rain to come. He'd have scoffed if anyone told him it would have brought him a houseguest for the night. A houseguest. A bargain. A last chance. 

* 

"When will you come back, Pa?" Clark was loading Jonathan's modest wagon and handed him the covered basket that held his dinner. 

"When I have word of my ship. I may have to stay in town overnight." 

"In Gotham?" Clark frowned. "I could come with you, Pa." 

"No. Stay with the girls. Make sure everyone's buckled down for the night, son. I'll be fine." 

Feyora and the twins came outside to see him off, calculating looks on their faces. "Papa, are you bringing us anything?" 

"Only if there is anything to bring back," he told Karen sternly, but she clasped her hands. "There might not be." 

"But if there is, Papa, I want new shoes! A new pair of slippers!" 

"Me, too! And gloves, Papa!" Kara's blue eyes gleamed at the thought of new finery. 

"Silk for me," Feyora insisted as she gave him a perfunctory kiss. "Blue, if you have it." Jonathan sighed and turned to Clark. 

"Blue silk for you too?" He teased blandly. Clark shook his head.

"Roses, Pa." Jonathan sobered. "For Ma. It'd be nice to bring her some." Clark dutifully went with his father to Martha's grave to sweep and weed it, and he always brought wildflowers whenever they were in bloom to lay them over her resting place. "White ones," he emphasized. They were Martha's favorite. Behind Clark, Feyora glared sullenly at his back. He'd made all of them look bad. Jonathan kissed his daughters and gave Clark a brusque hug, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Buckle down," he reminded him as he climbed up onto his wagon and gave the reins a little snap. Jonathan hoped he beat the rain to the coast. Dark clouds began to swallow up the blue sky and the wind quickened. He resumed the search for his ship, not knowing his greatest treasure awaited his return, waving from the doorway, watching him with troubled green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan finds himself trapped, in more ways than one.

Author's Note: yes, I'm a cheeseball. I regret nothing. I had too many plot twists when I wrote my Marvel/Disney based White Rose fic on AFF. Ideally, I should be able to finish this more easily.

If Jonathan ever saw another drop of rain... He cursed himself for the thought. He was a farmer; of course he couldn't regret the downpour he was caught in at the moment, but his toes were frozen little blocks inside his boots. He was drenched and miserable, runnels of rain leaking down the back of his neck where they escaped the brim of his hat. He rode on through the brush at an achingly slow pace, listening to his horses' petulant whinnies and grunts as their hooves splashed through acres of mud. The black clouds swallowed up the stars, and he fought to keep his lantern lit, only a fervent prayer and a weak flame between him and losing his way.

Two days worth of combing the shoreline brought him no success, and unfortunately, he came upon a scene that he would soon prefer to forget. The village constable and the local undertaker were there when arrived. There was, indeed, a ship washed ashore, or rather, the ruined, grisly remains of its hull and unlucky crew. The constable, an affable man named Ethan, greeted him with a nod.

"Not yours, Jon. Thank God. But these poor souls have made their last journey." Jonathan scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. The bodies were bloated and pale, eyes wide with the final horror of their watery demise.

"Any sign?"

"None."

"Then let me help you." Ethan and the undertaker looked so grateful, and Jonathan steeled himself for the task at hand. They labored for several hours clearing the bodies from the wreckage, checking them for any identifying information to point them to worried -mourning - families. They swept through the ruined hull, curious when they saw an enormous hole blown straight through the deck.

"That explains why it went down," Ethan explained. "Wonder if it was a cannon shot?" 

"No military uniforms. It's not a naval boat," Jonathan mused. The undertaker rooted through what looked like the captain's cabin, and he made a face as he pried open a small box, smashing open the tiny lock with a stone. He looked up grimly at Jonathan and beckoned him over. 

"Pirates."

"How do you know?" 

"Bill of sale. Signed by your hand, with your stamp. None of the goods listed are here, man. But I'll bet good money that these men were the last ones alive to see your ship." Jonathan, resigned, took the folded bill and pried off the distinctive, blue wax seal. His journey home would prove long and fruitless, after all. 

*

He heard crows cawing overhead and shivered. His horses were slowing as they continued to slog through the muck, and Jonathan realized that he'd taken a wrong turn on his way down the cliffs. The gravel road was nowhere in sight. Dread clogged his throat as the silvery torrents continued to pour, blurring his vision. Jonathan's muscles ached, his supper was long finished, and his wagon wheels were sinking into the muck. 

He heard the crows stirring up a ruckus overhead, massing in an enormous flock. The air around him seemed to crackle, and thunder rolled in the distance. Jonathan startled as an arc of bluish lightning briefly lit up the sky. He reached up, shielding his eyes against the glare. His horses shied, but he steadied his hand on the reins. The crows' wings made a rushing flurry of sound, and he watched the path of their flight. _There._

In the distance, he spied an unfamiliar hill and faint, flickering lights. The lightning struck again, and thunder rattled around him, but hope leapt into his chest. He saw the dim outline of a large estate; if he had to describe it, it almost resembled a castle. Jonathan wondered who could own such a large property this far out of city limits. His lantern was dangerously low on oil, but the hill wasn't any further than he'd already traveled. It was worth the risk if it meant dry lodgings.

He turned his wagon around and followed the flock of crows toward shelter. 

And heartache.

*

"He should be back by now." Clark peered out through the curtains for the fiftieth time that night. Feyora waved him off. 

"He's probably at the inn. Maybe he stayed there after he found his ship." 

"What if he didn't?" 

"Of course he has," Kara told him smugly. "We're going to be rich again, little big brother." It was the closest thing Clark had to a pet name from any of his sisters. 

"The money isn't what matters. Having Pa back does. It's a horrible night, not one where he should be out in the open on his wagon." She rolled her eyes at his scold. 

"You're just sore that you didn't ask him for anything for yourself before you left." 

"Like your dusty books," Karen chimed in from the kitchen table, where she was buffing her nails. Clark's glare was quelling. 

"I'm worried about Pa getting back safe and sound. You're worried about new shoes." Karen's blue eyes narrowed. 

"I am too worried about Papa." 

"Act like it, then." Clark snapped as he headed outside, jerking on his jacket as he went, to check the chicken coop and animal pens to make sure they were locked securely. The storm normally wouldn't unsettle him, but this one didn't bode well. The rain pelted him mercilessly, soaking his raven hair and leaving it plastered around his face. He heard a cawing of a flock of crows as they rushed across the sky, which was a murky brown backdrop for the silvery onslaught of drops, sharp as daggers. His heartbeat stuttered in his chest and ugly chills ran up his back. 

"Get home, Pa." The lightning flashes illuminated his skin, throwing their radiance over the perfection of his creamy skin. 

* 

Jonathan was about to give up hope until he found the road again, narrow and craggy the higher his horses climbed, but the trees were denser, too, providing him with a better windbreak and a reprieve from the worst of the rain. The branches seemed to spread together, creating a canopy to shield him from the hostile elements. 

His lantern exhausted its fuel and flickered out just as he cleared the crest of the hill, but to his surprise, the castle came into view, confirming to him that, indeed, was what it was. The lightning splashed it with light, picking out dark grey stone matted heavily with ivy. The west side of the house was surrounded by thick hedges, and on the right side, he spied a stable. His horses whickered and fussed, tossing their manes. Jonathan saw to their needs first, guiding them inside, he climbed down and unhitched them, guiding them into empty stalls. The other mounts inside snorted and whickered in greeting, nonplussed at the visitors. Jonathan looked them over briefly; they were a brilliant white, well groomed and indescribably beautiful. He approached one, offering it a withered apple from a large basket by the doorway. He stroked its long, elegant neck as it devoured the treat, breathing into its nostrils and murmuring to it. 

"Good evening, sweet girl. What a charmer you are." The beast's flesh felt warm beneath his chilled fingers. He combed them through her silky mane and relaxed, grateful to stretch his legs. The barn was sound, but his bones still ached from the cold, and he was soaked to the skin. He ventured out of the barn and approached the house. 

He could see lantern light upstairs, on the third story; there was a glass door that opened out onto a balcony. He wondered if anyone inside heard him drive up. Jonathan huddled in his coat and searched for a door. Three shallow steps led up to a tall, wide door made from darkly stained, heavy oak. The knocker was a brass gargoyle's head, leering at him as he reached for the ring and rapped it against the wood.  
He waited a few moments, then he knocked again.  
* 

Alex smelled his scent on the breeze before he'd even climbed down from the wagon. One middle aged, healthy male. He growled at the man's gall, visiting his home this late at night. 

Alex didn't trust anyone who came calling on a night fit only for bedlam. His last guest had been his _last guest. Rain, lightning, one denied request, and everything changed, hadn't it? Well, hadn't it?_

"Let's get this over with." 

* 

The door swung open with an eerie squeal of hinges, and Jonathan's breath caught. It beckoned him inside to an enormous foyer, and he hastily dried his boots on the mat. "Hello?" he called out cautiously. He felt guilty for showing up so late, no doubt disturbing someone from a sound sleep. But no one came. He closed the door behind him and secured the bolt. The foyer led to a large sitting room with vaulted ceilings and a spiral staircase. The farther inside he wandered, the more easily he could see.  
The house was exquisite. He removed his sodden boots and padded barefoot over the cold white marble floors, highly polished and veined in gold. He saw a light through a corridor, but he still didn't see anyone or hear any voices. Jonathan headed toward the light source and slowly felt himself thaw. Ahead of him, firelight threw shadows against the walls, illuminating several paintings in gold frames.  
He entered a cozy little study and grinned at the fire roaring in. The grate. The room was deliciously warm, and he shed his coat, eagerly hanging it on a hook. He set his boots by the fireplace to dry them more quickly, and Jonathan stripped down to his breeches and undershirt, hanging his damp clothes up with his coat. He felt some misgivings, but the urge to warm up overrode common sense.  
He settled into a large, overstuffed chair and closed his eyes in pleasure.  
"Don't turn around."  
His eyes snapped open, and Jonathan froze, hands gripping the armrests. His heart pounded at the sound of the voice, a husky baritone, slightly guttural. It sent little ugly chills down his back.  
"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure anyone was home-"  
"Yet, you barged in anyway," his host muttered dryly. "I could throw you out."  
"That won't be necessary..."  
"No. Don't. You've already disturbed my peace. Sit. And I meant it when I said don't turn around."  
"Er... My name's Jonathan. Jonathan Kent."  
"Respectable name for a burglar." Jonathan's heart raced and he felt lightheaded. He could feel his host's distrust and hostility in waves. The voice seemed to come from the doorway. Jonathan's eyes flitted around the room, searching for a mirror in the hopes that he would at least catch a glimpse of his reflection, but to his dismay, none hung on the walls.  
"My horses are in the barn."  
"I guessed as much."  
Jonathan cleared his throat. "If it's too much trouble, I could just stay in the barn."  
"Don't be ridiculous. You've made yourself so much at home. Why would I find that troubling?" His voice was a purring growl. "Daylight. That's when I expect you to be gone. Empty handed." Jonathan's pride was hurt. But the chair was cozy, and his eyelids drooped.  
"You have my word."  
Alex's footsteps retreated from the study, and he waved his hand. A soft wool blanket appeared, draped over Jonathan's sleeping bulk. He curled up in it and dozed uninterrupted, not giving his unusual host another thought.  
* 

Jonathan awoke with a slight crick in his neck, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, but he felt well rested and warm.  
He rose and stretched, hating to abandon the plush, cozy chair. When Jonathan felt his abandoned clothes, they were dry enough to put back on, and he dressed quickly, remembering the voice's warning about leaving at daylight. He crept out of the study, listening for sounds of life in the corridor and foyer, but hearing none. 

His curiosity got the best of him. Jonathan wandered around the bottom floor of the estate, eyes swimming at the sight of the immense wealth. Everywhere he looked, he found sculptures, velvet and damask draperies and upholstery, fine crystal and paintings in rich frames. 

But there were no mirrors. For some reason, that detail unnerved him. Perhaps the lord of the manor was a humble man...? Jonathan was certain he looked a sight, himself, in his rumpled clothing and likely bedhead. 

__He bypassed the front door and found a kitchen around the corner. Much like the rest of the house, it was large and airy, with a tidy breakfast nook in the corner built from linseed-oiled pine. He peered into the pantry and found it full, but he hesitated to take anything without permission from his host. Yet, when he closed the pantry door, a luscious scent tickled his nostrils. He turned and found a steaming stack of pancakes flanked by a generous amount of perfectly browned sausage links waiting on a platter for him._ _

__"What the devil?" he muttered, awed and confused. He heard no footsteps, and there had been no cooking sounds or smells when he approached the kitchen? But his mouth watered and his stomach urged him, briefly, to wear out his welcome by a few more minutes. He made short work of the food, eating enough to impress even Clark, who had a lightning-fast metabolism and the appetite of an ox. Jonathan laid the dirty dish in the washtub and made use of a water pitcher and tea towel to wash his face and hands._ _

__His good intentions returned, fully focused on leaving, but he noticed that a window was open in the corridor, and that a light breeze was stirring the curtains. The soft sunlight was a welcome change from the almost cavernous darkness of the rest of the house. He approached and parted the folds of the luxurious fabric, and his breath caught._ _

__The window looked out into a garden, larger and grander than he could even imagine. Long, even rows of flowering trees and hedges flanked the walls, and a circular, paved path wound itself through a riot of ornamental plants. Jonquils, jasmine and agapanthus ran rampant, competing with clusters of honeysuckle._ _

__But most astonishing were the roses. At the center of the garden stood an enormous rosebush, lovingly tended, producing snowy white petals with yellow throats._ _

__Jonathan's feet veered from their planned path, guiding him in search of an outer door. His boots thudded over the marble floors, and he smiled when he found an ornate glass door. He turned the brass handle with a neat click and strode outside._ _

__*_ _

__Alexander woke from his doze upstairs at the sound of his solarium door opening. Rage and shock stirred him from the drowsy remains of sleep._ _

__"Blast," he growled. "Curse his eyes!"_ _

__That was his reward for his kindness. Alex swept downstairs quietly, stalking his houseguest as the prey that he now was. Alex fumed with each step, adrenaline spiking sharply. The stranger - Jonathan - seemed trustworthy enough the night before, free of malice, only in need of shelter. Alex was foolish enough to believe him when he agreed to leave emptyhanded. Alex realized he should have added on the injunction "Don't trespass in my garden because it's _sacred_." Some things should simply be implied, shouldn't they? Alex shook his head over his own bluntness, hackles rising on his neck._ _

__Once again he was the fool; this time, though, it was for daring to trust._ _

__*_ _

__Jonathan bypassed the rest of the flowers, finding himself entranced by the white roses. Clark's words lingered with him, sorrow living in his green eyes that marked Jonathan's soul; he'd loved Martha so much, too, the child that she wouldn't let Jonathan give up._ _

__It was such a simple, selfless request. Love for his son stretched out his hand while the heady scent of the roses teased him, filling his lungs. Before he knew it, the fragile stems were bending under his grip, snapping apart. He licked his thumb, which smarted from the prick of one of the possessive thorns, guarding the blossoms' beauty._ _

__"You. Dare."_ _

__Jonathan froze, and his heart pounded and raced in his chest._ _

__Alex's voice boomed. " _Look at me._ " Every syllable out of his mouth promised punishment. "I gave you til daylight. I sheltered you. Fed you. And this is how you repay my kindness, Jonathan Kent."_ _

__"I didn't mean-"_ _

__"I know perfectly well what you meant. Look. At. Me." Jonathan winced, then turned to face the source of that righteous anger._ _

__He immediately wished he didn't._ _

__As soon as his eyes fell upon his host, the world around them erupted into disorder. Shrill, biting winds ripped at their clothing as Jonathan faced down a creature like one from his nightmares. His "host" towered over him, easily as tall as Clark. He garbed himself in a voluminous black robe; a broad hood hung down around his neck, which he typically pulled up to obscure his face._ _

__He was hirsute, covered in a thick layer of brown fur, and his fingernails were cruel gray talons fit to tend and tear a man to shreds. Bull's horns protruded from his brow, a mottled shade of cream, and when he snarled, his muzzle peeled back to reveal many razor-sharp teeth._ _

__Most horrible were his eyes, a steely, opaque gray that held only malice and rage. They raked over Jonathan. "You desecrated my roses. Those are my prized possession." He reached out and snatched it away before Jonathan could even blink. Jonathan's blue eyes looked bleak. "Were you planning to bring one to your lover, or to woo some unworthy whore?" Jonathan's face grew red and indignant._ _

__"Of course not. I...I only thought to bring them to my wife." He swallowed roughly. "She... loved them." His fists hung balled at his sides. "My son asked that I bring some back. I can barely afford them." Alex heard the past tense, but his heart remained hard._ _

__"Ridiculous," the creature scoffed. "So you sought to steal them. You'd no doubt rob me blind."_ _

__"No. I'm not a thief. I'm just a desperate father who lost his way. I've lost _everything." His voice shook. "I lost my ship. I'm a farmer, but also a merchant by trade."__ _

___"Obviously a poor one," Alex huffed. He turned up one nostril at Jonathan's clean but patched garb and battered hat. "But go on."_ _ _

___"Pirates stole my ship's goods. I have nothing. There's little between my family and ruin. My daughters will be disappointed that I can bring nothing back. This won't be the first time I've disappointed them, man, but hear me out when I tell you, without that Rose," and he nodded at the blossom Alex carefully cradled in his grip, "my son's heart will be broken."_ _ _

___"Your son."_ _ _

___"My youngest." Jonathan closed his eyes, which began to prick out if helplessness and anguish. "He's my joy."_ _ _

___"He's a child?"_ _ _

___"No. He's seventeen." Confusion clogged his throat. "He will be eighteen in a month." The creature gave him a calculating look._ _ _

___"Eighteen."_ _ _

___"Yes," Jonathan croaked. "All he asked for were white roses to lay on Martha's grave. I loved her with all my heart. My children are all I have left-"_ _ _

___"If you seek to move me, save your breath." Alex descended upon him, and A small noise escaped Jonathan as the creature's hand wrapped itself around his throat. He shoved him back against a sturdy oak, and Jonathan realized with cold dread and undiluted fear that he stared Death in the face. The creature's breath rushed hotly over his face. He cocked his horned head to the side._ _ _

___"Still feel like stealing from me?" A lone tear trickled from the corner of one blue eye before Jonatgan closed them. He struggled for breath, but he refused to cry out. His breathing was choked and stertorous, and Alex sighed._ _ _

___"Your riches are in your family. You see that I live alone. That doesn't mean I welcome my solitude, man. Just my secrecy." He regarded Jonathan with cool, flinty eyes. "Do you pity me?" Jonathan struggled, then nodded. "How...quaint."_ _ _

___"Please... Please. Let...me go back to them."_ _ _

___"I can't. Not at the risk that you will tell someone what you've seen."_ _ _

___"No! Never! No one would believe me. My daughters... They need me. If I don't return, they will-"_ _ _

___"They're no doubt beside themselves with worry. And you've come such a long way from home," Alex purred. "Tell me more about...this son of yours."_ _ _

___"Clark," Jonathan rasped. "Why? What do you need to know about my son? Why are you interested in him, monster?" Alex decided to let the insult slide. Instead he grinned with all of his jagged teeth._ _ _

___"Because he will buy you your freedom."_ _ _


	3. The Monster Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Kinda self-explanatory. Clark meets the man who threatened his father. They have words.

Author's Note: I'm trying to reign myself in from making the plot too complex, since it grew out of control with White Rose. My brain's scattered. I'm also just functioning with my phone because my home internet is temporarily shut off. So there you go. Thanks for any interest you have in this story, and I apologize for the screwy paragraph formatting. I'm having to manually format all the paragraph breaks in the HTML uploader, and it SUCKS.

 

The ride home was somber and uneventful; the sky didn't heed Jonathan's dark mood. Sunlight dappled the ground, its glare occasionally blinding him as he peered up at the tree branches, still damp with the previous night's rain. The birds overhead chittered and sang, heedless of the lonely visitor rolling slowly along on the rickety old wagon. He guided the rains steadily through the drying mud, back to the gravel road; the downhill journey was faster than the one to the mysterious estate, and his wagon was loaded with unexpected riches. They did nothing to comfort him. Nothing at all.

Beside him on the wagon seat lay a large bouquet of white roses, with yellow-throated, silky blossoms. Jonathan felt knife-sharp pain twisting in his chest, nauseating him every time he breathed in an errant whiff of their fragrance.

_Clark. Oh, Clark._

*

Clark saw his father's wagon from several miles away, a credit to his enhanced vision, and he whooped with joy and relief.

"He's back! Feyora, girls, he's back!" he bellowed up the stairs. The morning was still early yet, and Clark had been awake since dawn, tending the animals and nervously cleaning the kitchen. His sisters decided to sleep in late, dreaming of the fine gifts they expected their papa to bring home, of the richer life they gave up.

Feyora stumbled gracelessly downstairs, yawning and glaring at him. "No need to shout, just because you're the early bird." And he looked sickeningly fresh, alert and chipper. Clark never woke with bloodshot eyes with bags or shadows under them, was never puffy-faced or irritable, and he bathed and dressed in a flash. Feyora envied - and sort of despised - him for his hearty constitution and flawless beauty. Martha's daughters were pretty in their own right, certainly, but they didn't own their adopted brother's glow that poured forth whenever he smiled, and unlike Clark, they had to make an effort. They went through time-consuming and elaborate grooming rituals, shirking chores or making only halfhearted attempts at them, threatened by dry, chapped skin or broken nails. Clark merely rolled his eyes, rolled up his sleeves, and finished the chores in a twinkling.

Super strength and speed made a bit of a difference, all told. Jonathan and Martha accepted that their son was different. Unlike their daughters, he rarely cried, only when hungry or wet. He was never sick, and even as an infant, he listened to them as though he understood their words. Clark was quick to speak and walk, reaching milestones faster than expected.

Discovering how different Clark was happened abruptly, still haunting Jonathan with the memory. He'd been a sturdy, curious five-year-old, always getting into everything. One day, Jonathan was outside plowing the field to plant the corn, making steady progress on the first furrow and working up a thirst. He paused to sip from a tin canteen in his pocket. He heard Clark one moment, playing with a sling shot, aiming the pebbles at random targets, birds, fence posts... Jonathan noticed Martha through the kitchen window and signaled to her.

"He's out here!" he called out, nodding to Clark. She leaned out the window and acknowledged him.

"Lunch! In a few minutes!" Clark looked up from studying a grasshopper where it climbed up his mother's crepe myrtle tree and darted off, heading for the animal pens, not ready to stop playing yet. Jonathan sighed and went back to his plow. His daughters were ensconced inside with their dolls and quilt samplers, oblivious to their brother's antics.

The calm afternoon air was cut by the bellow of Jonathan's prize bull, Lucifer. Jonathan stiffened at the sound, then felt his heart stop when he realized that Clark wasn't beside the house. His eyes scanned for his dark, curly head, and his blood rushed in his ears when he spotted him.

Clark had wandered into the bull's pen, scooping up more pebbles to use as ammunition for his slingshot. He hummed tunelessly to himself in his high, sweet tone, and the sound incited the ornery bull; he was oblivious to the beast flicking his tail back and forth and worrying his large head. Jonathan watched in horror as Lucifer pawed the ground and rushed Clark!

His son was so intent on his task that he wasn't paying attention to the rumble of hooves against the ground, until Ol' Luke was practically on top of him. Jonathan abandoned the plow, running hell for leather over the field. He saw Martha look up at the sound of his helpless shouts, and she, too, dropped her dish and darted out of the house. Time stopped as Clark finally turned, green eyes growing wide as he met the bull's.

Jonathan's whole world came crashing down as the bull trampled over his son. Martha's scream curdled his blood, and the air rushed out of his chest. He kept running, legs burning, and he skidded down onto his knees by his son's side. Lucifer bellowed at him indignantly, wisely backing off toward the other side of the pen. Jonathan and Martha reached for him, hands turning him over and inspecting him avidly, breath caught.

Clark looked up at them, stunned. "Papa?" His voice was bewildered by clear as a bell, eyes round as he stared up at Jonathan.

"Clark," he croaked.

"All I wanted were some rocks," he murmured. Tears spilled from Martha's eyes as she stroked his hair.

"Are you hurt, sweetheart?" He shook his head solemnly.

"Uh-uh." He looked bewildered, still. "Mama, why are you crying?" Martha released the breath she was holding and hugged him close. Jonathan quietly looked him over, stroking his hair. He didn't feel any fractures, and there wasn't a mark on him.

"Everything's fine," she assured him. "Clark... Don't play in the bull's pen again, all right?"

"I don't think he likes me," Clark murmured. He climbed up from his mother's lap and dusted himself off, picked up his slingshot, and ran back into the house. Martha and Jonathan exchanged a bleak look.

"That wasn't normal." 

"Thank our lucky stars that he's fine," Martha suggested. "And, dear?"

"Yes, love?"

"Shoot that damned bull between the eyes."

They dined on beef stew that night.  
*

Clark and his sisters dutifully waited for Jonathan's wagon to pull into the yard. Clark noticed his somber expression immediately and frowned. "Welcome back, Pa." Jonathan climbed down and gave Clark a fierce hug, and Clark heard the slight catch in his breath, felt his whole body tense up, and it unnerved him. "We were so worried."

"I found shelter. I stayed warm for the night." His expression was blank.

"At the inn?" Feyora inquired.

"No. With... A generous stranger." Feyora peered over his shoulder tellingly at the covered cargo, and Jonathan reached over and pulled off the heavy tarp.

All three girls gasped and shrieked at the loads of goods. There were several trunks full of fabrics, perfumes, fine oils, jewelry and knickknacks, leather slippers and paintings. Feyora practically shoved her sisters out of the way when she spied the folded length of blue silk. She clasped it to her chest and beamed. "I love you, Papa!" she cried. Karen and Kara took their turns kissing their father's weathered cheek before pawing through the contents of the wagon before Clark told them to stop. He quietly unloaded the trunks and brought them into the house, setting them on the floor if Martha's sitting room.

Jonathan watched Clark with a rueful expression as he went about unpacking the trunks. "It went well, Pa."

"Yes, it did, son."

"Where did they find your ship?"  
"We'll discuss it after supper, Clark." His tone was exhausted and full of regret. Clark was unnerved by it, but he nodded and brought Jonathan his pipe.

Clark fixed a hearty supper later that night while the girls paraded around for each other in their new finery. Jonathan sat at the table, contemplating his potatoes with little interest; Clark wouldn't understand, certainly, that every bite lodged in his throat. He helped Clark clear away the dishes, but instead of letting him full up the washtub, he called to the girls. "Karen, come and finish the washing up." She wrinkled her nose.

"Why can't Clark do it?"

"Clark and I need to talk." He clapped his son on the back fondly, but his smile was weak, lacking its usual humor. Clark retrieved their coats - he didn't get cold, but he longed for something to wrap himself in, to ward off the uneasy feelings he'd had all day since his father's return. They walked outside and strolled through the small orchard, just looking up at the stars.

"Glad it's clearer than last night," Clark remarked. "The girls didn't like the lightning much. They stayed with me until it was over."

"It was a bitter night, that's for certain. Son..." Jonathan scrubbed his face with his palm. "About my ship..."

"What about it, Pa?"

"It was lost. The constable thinks it was pirates." Clark looked confused.

"Then where did all of those goods come from, Pa?"

"From...the man I stayed with last night. He was very unusual. He let me tell him about my ship. We talked for a long time."

"So...he gave you all of those gifts?"

"They aren't gifts, son."

"Then, what are they?" Jonathan paused, letting he silence hang between them several, painful seconds before he could speak. 

"The price," Jonathan whispered. "The price I...agreed to, Clark. So he would...leave us alone, and...oh, God, what have I done!" Jonathan's face crumpled, and he flinched when Clark reached for him, but he didn't pull away when he embraced him.

"What did he tell you? What does he want with us, Pa?" Jonathan's shoulders shook, and he wept into Clark's coat collar. Fear crept into Clark's chest.

"He...he wants... You."

*

They returned to the house after an hour, both sober and quiet. Kara ignored it, hurrying over to hug Clark and playfully drape a length of velvet around his neck. 

"You need something to bring out your eyes," she teased, but he only ruffled her long blonde hair and removed the cloth, laying it back on the table. Clark passed his sisters and went into the kitchen, reaching for the forgotten bundle. The scent of roses reached up and tickled his nostrils. Clark turned to his father and gestured to the flowers.

"I'm going to visit her, now."

"Clark. Don't be ridiculous, it's late," Karen chided him. "You can go tomorrow."

"I won't have a chance tomorrow," he retorted. "This won't wait." He nodded sourly to the piles of jewelry. "Go ahead and play dress-up."

"You should have asked for something, then," Feyora muttered. He gave her a quelling look, and then Clark took the flowers and slammed the door after himself. The house shook, making the girls yelp. Jonathan winced.

Feyora scowled after her brother's departure, throwing up her hands. "Why's he so sensitive tonight?"

"That's just Clark," Karen shrugged.

"He just misses Mother," Kara reasoned. "Those were nice roses."

"Roses die," Feyora pointed out. "Hand me that scarf?"

Clark stalked out into the woods, toward Martha's burial site. There was a small clearing surrounded by red maple trees that had been her favorite spot to picnic with the family. The site was marked with a wooden cross spiked into the ground, and a flat stone that Clark had engraved himself to read "Martha Elizabeth Kent, Beloved Mother and Wife, Rest in Peace." He'd sat quietly in the kitchen that night, slowly drilling into the cold stone with the narrow, invisible beams of pressurized heat that shot from his eyes, burning in precise, shallow grooves. It had been a labor of love, as this was, laying the roses over her grave once he'd cleared it of weeds. Once the blossoms laid across the damp grass, the tears pricking at his eyes finally broke loose. Clark sank down with his back against one of the tall maples and wept.

*

 

Alex contemplated the goblet of dry red wine, watching the flames in the fireplace throw a flickering, eerie glow over his towering shelves of books and the portraits hung on his library wall. The winds outside sounded mournful, rattling the branches and buffeting the stone walls of his castle. The weather matched his mood.

He felt guilt after the fact as he watched Jonathan Kent ride away to return to his family, and to follow through on his end of the bargain. It meant nothing to Alex to load him down with riches; Alex was growing tired of them, surely. Possessions made poor companions and didn't keep him warm at night.

Jonathan Kent was a pauper and a simple man. Alex's lips formed damning words, tempting the farmer to commit the ultimate sin...

*

 

"Buy my freedom?" Jonathan's voice was a shallow gurgle, and Alex loosened his grip, setting him down roughly. Jonathan stumbled back and struggled to breathe, coughing into his sleeve.

"You heard me. You trespassed on my property, and I spared your life. You've seen that I live alone. Certainly, you can imagine why." Alex gestured to his horns and unearthly, beastly face. "I don't entertain much."

"Pity... that so few get to enjoy your sparkling personality and wit," Jonathan choked. Alex huffed.

"Brave words. Shouldn't you be begging for your life right about now? Most men in your position would be begging." Jonathan backed away from him, eyes betraying his fear.

"What do you want with Clark?"

"It doesn't matter. I _want him."_

_"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not just going to hand over my youngest child-"_

_"He's not a _child," Alex pointed out.__

__"I'd still have to be out of my right mind to agree to this." Jonathan gestured around them to the grand garden. "With all you have, you'd try to take away the thing I cherish most... No. Just... No. Unthinkable."_ _

__"You have other children."_ _

__"There's only one Clark." Jonathan's eyes blazed, and he didn't look like he planned to yield for a single second. His nerve intrigued Alex, and it made the prospect of prizing away his son even more desirable._ _

__"Tell me more about him. Why keep him, rather than any of the others? A poor farmer with three daughters would be keen, certainly, to marry them off."_ _

__"Yet you don't want my daughters," Jonathan mentioned. Alex opened his mouth to argue, then stopped himself. He turned away and sighed._ _

"No. I'm not in the market for a princess." Jonathan scowled at that. "I want...companionship. An equal, if you will." He turned to Jonathan and nodded. "And obviously, someone with an open mind. Is he intelligent?" 

__"Clark's smart as a whip. Not a mean bone in his body." Alex shrugged, not surprised; of course the humble farmer would have raised a good son._ _

__"Healthy?"_ _

__"Never been sick a day in his life."_ _

__Alex burned with curiosity. "Show me what made it worth violating my home and my privacy." Alex turned in a swirl of dark, voluminous fabric, robes swishing softly as he went to a tall chest of drawers. He pulled out the top one and extracted something long and flat, wrapped in fine cloth. He opened it up, revealing a fine silver mirror, the sort that a lady would have as part of her dresser set. Jonathan was surprised to see it, when the rest of the house lacked mirrors of any kind. He closed the distance between them and handed it to Jonathan gravely._ _

__"Close your eyes and think of home. Then look into the glass."_ _

__"Whatever for?"_ _

__"Just do it!" Alex roared, and his voice echoed through the castle. Rage and impatience burned in those eerie slate gray eyes._ _

__Jonathan's hand shook as he took the mirror from him. He swallowed roughly and licked his lips, then closed his eyes. He paused a moment, then opened them. A low sound of wonder escaped him. The mirror's surface misted over and swirled with silvery light, and Jonathan's own reflection disappeared, only to be replaced with familiar shapes, like something out of a dream. He saw his kitchen materialize before him in the tiny pane of glass, and he watched Feyora and his daughters seated at the table, eating bread and jam. "How on earth...?"_ _

__"Magic," Alex supplied. "One more kind of it at my disposal. The mirror points the way home to whomever holds it. And sometimes, it reveals the heart's strongest desire." Almost on cue, the image changed again, and Jonathan found himself watching Clark outside, chopping firewood. His movements were effortless and graceful, and the sunlight loved him, bring out a healthy flush in his creamy skin and making fiery highlights blaze in his dark hair._ _

Alex's breath caught. Clark Kent was stunning; "handsome" didn't do him justice. 

__"And...you said he's smart? Well-read?"_ _

__"There's no flies on Clark." Jonathan jerked back as Alex snatched away the mirror. Alex's eyes were gleaming, making Jonathan shiver._ _

__"You have a lovely family. That's why it's going to hurt me to have to divide you." Jonathan's blood ran cold. "I've seen your home. Even if you run from here on your wagon, Jonathan Kent, you won't escape me."_ _

__"You couldn't-"_ _

__"Magic, Jonathan," Alex reminded him smugly. He put away the scrying mirror and faced him again. "You'll never be able to hide from me, Jonathan." He gestured to his hand, holding it up to the light. It glinted off a fine gold ring, ornately carved. Alex wiggled his ring finger and tapped it with his thumb, and he smiled malevolently. "Close your eyes. When you open them again, look out at that twisted oak. The ones with that flock of crows nesting in it." Jonathan frowned in confusion. "Do it."_ _

__Jonathan obeyed. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone in the garden, only hearing the sounds of the low breeze and chirping starlings. But he remembered the creature's command and looked out toward the twisted oak tree._ _

__The entire flock took flight an a flurry of noisy, chattering caws and rushes of wings, frightened by the visitor that appeared suddenly in their midst. Jonathan shuddered at the sight of the tall, horned figure standing beside the tree, realizing that his promise wasn't a hollow one._ _

__There was nowhere to hide._ _

__*_ _

__Clark woke at the gentle shake his father gave him. His green eyes fluttered open, taking in his father's haggard face. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, as though he, too, had been crying._ _

__"When do I have to go to him, Pa?"_ _

__"Tonight, son. I'm so sorry." His voice was so bleak, and he was trembling. Clark rose from his place beside Martha's stone and closed the gap between them. Jonathan sobbed roughly as Clark embraced him, stroking his back._ _

__"It's all right. I'll be all right."_ _

__"I...I can't. I just..."_ _

__"I love you, Pa." Jonathan nodded, burying his face in Clark's neck, and he cried without restraint. He clung to him, heart breaking a little more with every second. Memories of their life together swarmed before him when he closed his eyes. His mischief, his baby giggles, first teeth, his childish drawings, watching him balancing on a stool beside Martha as she made pie; everything precious, everything he couldn't replace made him hold onto his son more tightly, knowing all was lost._ _

__Clark stepped back and dried Jonathan's tears. "This is for you." Clark frowned and shook his head._ _

__"No, Pa, I can't take it-"_ _

__"Son, you have to put it on. It will take you to him. Put it on, and turn it three times." The ring was well crafted, a thing of beauty, but bitterness welled in Clark's chest as he slid it into one long, tapered finger. Jonathan stepped back and nodded._ _

__"I love you, Clark."_ _

__"Kiss the girls goodbye for me," he told him quietly. His chin quivered as he mastered the urge to stay. Three deft twists of the ring, and Clark disappeared in a flash of light._ _

__

__*_ _

__The first sound Clark heard were the crows. They shrieked and stirred up a ruckus overhead, throwing their hectic silhouettes across the full moon. Clark shivered and took in his surroundings._ _

__The ring was, indeed, magic._ _

__Clark sucked in a shaky breath at the sight of the castle, taking in the ivy-covered stone and stained glass windows with wonder. Like Jonathan had before him, he crept toward the barn, intrigued. He went inside and examined the fine horses, pausing to stroke the white mare's nose when she whickered at him. He knew his host was waiting for him, and it wouldn't do to vex him by putting it off. Clark strode to the front door, just as intimidated as Jonathan had been, but he wasn't desperate for warmth and shelter. Clark fumed, angry at the creature's thoughtless treatment of his father. How dare he threaten him... _how dare he.__ _

___Clark grasped the heavy brass ring and knocked it firmly against the heavy oak door. The door swung open slowly with a low creak, making him tense for a moment. Clark slowly entered the foyer, and even in the dark, he could tell that the salon was big enough to hold his whole house. "Hello?" he called out. "I came as my father promised." He wandered further inside, and he gave a start as the front door closed by itself, locking him inside. Magic, he silently reminded himself.  
"My name is Clark Kent."_ _ _

___*_ _ _

___Alex heard the strong, clear baritone and shivered. The young man's voice was virile sounding, and frankly, delicious. He heard impatience in his tone, which intrigued him. He didn't sound afraid. Not in the least._ _ _

___Alex crept down the corridor toward the foyer. Clark's enhanced hearing detected his movements where Jonathan's had not during his stay. He listened again and heard his host's quickening pulse and low breathing before he entered the room.___

"It's not polite to leave one's guests in the dark," Clark drawled. "Almost makes me think you weren't looking forward to my company." 

"On the contrary." Alex watched him from atop the stairs; in the dark, Clark picked out the dim outline of a tall, solidly built figure wearing what appeared to be a hooded robe. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, young man."

"Some light might be nice," Clark pointed out. Alex's lips curled in a smirk. "Of course." Slowly he descended the staircase, and Clark felt a chill run down his spine. He could feel a remnant of his host's emotions, anticipation mixed with ...fear? Of him? Or, of disappointing him? Clark tried to out aside his confusion as he confronted the man who dealt his father such a poor hand. The figure reached the floor and waved his hand. Instantly a wide candelabra lit itself with eight tiny flames atop red beeswax candles in the corner, followed by another on the table, then two wall sconces behind him. One more wave of his hand, and a roaring blaze lit itself in the fireplace, warming them both instantly and giving Clark his first look at his host. 

He was as tall as Clark and very solid, indeed, and his face was obscured by his hood, but he noticed his hands immediately. They were graceful with long fingers and deadly looking talons, and the skin was covered in a layer of sable brown fur. Clark was immediately intrigued.

"Welcome, Clark Kent. My name is Alexander." 

"I don't remember the last time someone gave a ransomed captive a warm welcome. But I'm honored." Alex grunted in surprise. Jonathan was right; Clark had no flies on him. And he was so... impertinent! 

___It delighted him._ _ _

"You consider yourself a captive? It was hardly a ransom," Alex scoffed. "Your father left here richer than he came." 

"Wasn't I the ransom for my family's safety?" Clark asked. Alex chuckled. It was a honeyed sound, and Clark wanted to see the face that went with that voice. It was deep and resonant, with a slight, growling burr. 

"As I told your father, my circumstances are... unique." Alex turned from him and went to a cabinet across the room. He opened it and pulled down a bottle of wine, deftly uncorking it. He poured two glasses, but Clark shook his head as he turned back around to offer him one. 

"It's a fine vintage." 

"I don't drink." 

"No constitution for it?" 

"No taste for it." Alex shrugged, setting down the second glass. His face remained obscured as he took a sip of the wine. 

"Your loss." 

"What makes your circumstances so unique? If you need companionship, why not solicit someone from the village?" 

"Solicit someone?" he scoffed. "No. Don't think I haven't tried. It didn't yield the outcome I'd hoped." 

"Then why me?" 

"Because you came to me so highly recommended, in a sense. Jonathan said you're special." 

"My father never recommended this," Clark spat. "And I'm hardly special. I'm just a typical farm boy." 

"Handsome, and humble," Alex murmured. 

"Come again?" "Come with me," Alex told him, rather abruptly. "We aren't going to stand around gabbing all night. Let's get you settled in." Clark watched him in confusion as he turned and climbed the stairs. 

"Settled in? Is that what you call this?" 

"Yes. But if you prefer, Clark, let me show you to your cell. You are my captive, after all." His voice held a note of sarcasm. Fuming, Clark followed him up, but his mind was full of questions. 


	4. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is my corny little clue to the content of this horrid little chapter. Wahahahaha...
> 
> Seriously, just read it :p
> 
> ...and there's a teensy smidgen of smut.

Author's Note: Still using my phone to upload. Still hating the HTML tags. Hope there aren't too many rotten tomatoes for the last chapter. I looked back at the original Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, not the Disney movie, and I realized, "why the heck did Belle's dad agree to give her away?" He could have just left with making the promise and then reneged, and made off with the goods. I tried to account for that possibility with Lex showing off all of his fancy gadgets, but it might have been half-baked.

Should (hopefully) go along more smoothly from here. Since this is based on the fairy tale, there are no Disney showtunes or pieces of talking furniture or dishes. Feel free to thank me for that much. :)

 

Clark followed his host upstairs and down a long corridor that was lined with impressive oil paintings and tapestries. As they went along, much like downstairs, the wall sconces lit themselves as soon as they approached. Clark felt unnerved by it, feeling his privacy was invaded by a castle that sensed his every need before he could even voice it.

"You seem uncomfortable," Alex remarked.

"Just unused to all of this, is all," Clark offered. "It's... nice." Alex paused and jerked his hooded head around, and Clark wished he could see more of his face.

"Nice? Did you just call my castle... NICE?" Alex opened his mouth to speak and found himself stammering. "It's... hundreds of years old! It's been in my family... for GENERATIONS. And it provides for every need imaginable, and all you can say is that it's NICE?"

"Well, it is," Clark said with a shrug, nonplussed. And unimpressed. "Does my room have a window facing the east?"

"Er... it could, if you like," Alex grumbled. He sounded slightly put out. "There are plenty of rooms to choose from." With that, he turned them down the opposite direction, and the sconces behind them extinguished with their retreat. Clark felt slightly guilty making Alex cater to such a shallow wish, but rising with the sun was an ingrained ritual for him, living on a farm. His day got off to a better start, too, when his body absorbed the day's first rays of the sun, since it fueled him. Alex, for the moment, didn't need to know that.

Alex paused by the third door down, and the door swished open. The candelabras and sconces inside automatically lit themselves, but Clark made a small sound of disappointment.

"What's the matter?" Alex asked, piqued.

"It's nice enough," Clark supplied. "Nicer than I'm even used to, certainly... but, the colors are a bit... gaudy." The tapestries and linens in the room contained a riot of colors, trimmed in lace and damask and gold tassels and frippery. Alex sighed.

"Perhaps. Hmmmm..." The door closed, and Alex waved it again. The door swung open again, and this time Clark gasped.

It was perfect.

The room itself featured high ceilings and it was very spacious, much less cluttered than it was when Alex first showed it to him. This room catered to his tastes, done up in soft shades of blue and gray, with highly polished wood floors. The window indeed faced the east, and Clark grinned.

The room hosted a compact fireplace and large cedar armoire. A long bookshelf that spanned the length of the wall was full of gorgeous leatherbound editions, and in the corner of the room sat a telescope.

"Will this do?" Alex asked dryly.

"I think so," Clark told him simply. Alex sighed.

"If there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask."

"A bath," Clark said automatically. Alex wasn't expecting such an abrupt response.

"Oh. Certainly. Alex waved his hand, and a side door opened on the left wall. Clark walked past Alex toward it and peered inside. The suite was small, a bathing chamber featuring an enormous clawfoot tub, long enough for Clark to stretch his long legs. He beamed.

"Where do you get your water from?"

"I have a well out back, and a little stream that runs out a half mile behind my garden wall, but..."

"I can bring some up."

"There's no need," Alex told him. He nodded to the tub, and before their eyes, it slowly filled with clear, steaming water. Alex reached into a small jar and pulled out a handful of lavender stems, throwing them onto the water's surface.

"Have you eaten?"

"I'm not hungry." Clark had lost his appetite upon hearing his father's plan for him. His expression shuttered. Alex felt a pang of sympathy.

"Enjoy your bath." Alex retreated, but before he let himself out, he turned to him one last time.

"Clark?"

"Yes?"

"I know the circumstances aren't...ideal," Alex hedged, "but I hope you'll come to be happy here."

"Keep hoping, Alexander." Clark tired of wearing his sweaty clothes. He tugged off his boots with a grunt and jerked off his shirt, letting it fall with a plop. Alex's breath caught.

His body was a melody of firm, graceful muscle and elegant limbs. Clark's shoulders were broad, emphasizing the narrow waist and hips. His stomach was taut enough to bounce a coin off of, and his navel was a shallow, soft indent. Small, flat nipples crowned his pectorals beautifully, beckoning to Alex; he longed to take one between his teeth and suck it, to tease it until Clark cried out.

Alex felt himself growing painfully hard.

"Don't you have things to do?" Clark inquired testily. He turned his back to him and unbuttoned the waist of his trousers and prepared to drop them. Alex was stunned at his lack of self-consciousness.

"Er... I'll just...go. Good... Night." but his feet rooted themselves to the spot as the waistband of those pants lowered, exposing those two perfect dimples of his spine, then the smooth upper curves of his ass. Alex felt his pulse race and his mouth go dry. 

"I'm not stopping you. Good night." The pants hit the floor, and Alex fled, but not before he had a fleeting glimpse of that body. His self-control was badly compromised, and he needed a minute.

Clark stretched out and sighed decadently once he climbed into the tub. It felt wonderful not to have to fill the tub and heat the water himself before relaxing in it. But the loneliness began to catch up to him. It felt odd not to hear his sisters' or father's voices or footsteps throughout the house. He almost felt a pang of regret for sending Alex away, using the request for a bath as a tactic to be alone with his thoughts. But Clark was unsure of what to even say to the one who separated him from his family. He knew he would have to figure it out at some point.

*

Alex swept into his own chamber quickly, and the door practically slammed after him. He fumbled with his robe, clutching folds of the skirt until he caught the hem up over his waist, exposing his swollen cock. He sank onto the bed, gripped himself firmly and began to stroke, with the vision of Clark's nude, luscious body burned into his vision. Gasps and low groans escaped him as he imagined him stretched out in that tub, skin growing rosy and slick from the hot water, those nipples puckered and hard...several agonizing minutes later, Alex stared down at the cooling mess of his own seed oozing down his belly and lap. He collapsed back into the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, limp and spent.

"I'm in so much trouble," he murmured. "Damn it, Clark."


	5. Let Me Entertain You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Alex get to know each other… sort of.
> 
> What does one even DO all day long in an enchanted castle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’m having fun with this story. I’m silly. That won’t change all that soon. The question that always hits me when I read Beauty and the Beast as a straight fairy tale is, what does Beast do all day? Play against himself in chess? Go hunting? Read? File his nails? A little casual gardening? He’s an enchanted prince and used to having everyone do everything for him. If you read the old Grimm’s version, his home really is enchanted, the story doesn’t say anything about servants. I’m going to try to account for that in my little fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Forgive me if it’s absolute codswallop when I’m done.

Waking up to the sun’s first rays, in the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in, was unfortunately the least frustrating event of Clark’s first day at the castle, a reluctant houseguest of the mysterious man calling himself Alex. Clark yawned and stretched, lolling for a few minutes within the soft nest of fine linens and enjoying how they felt against his skin. He slept bare, typically, only wearing a long nightshirt out of politeness when rising. Clark rose from bed and gave himself a thorough scratch as he went to the large window and took in the view.

It was breathtaking. From as high up as they were, he could see the entire valley and the rest of the village in the distance, all of the towering fir trees, and the thick, sun-streaked clouds blazing in rich shades of red and orange. Clark lingered at the window, absorbing the sunlight and breathing in the slightly damp morning air.

Alex heard him wake from his own chamber down the hall, thanks to his enhanced hearing. His beastly affliction had its benefits, including senses that were stronger and more acute than they’d been before… well, _before_. A man Clark’s height wasn’t going to walk that lightly across the floorboards, yet hadn’t that been one of the reasons he’d given him a room with plank flooring instead of solid marble? Alex needed to keep tabs on him during his stay… for however long it took. He sighed and got out of bed, feeling no need to linger there, and he knew it was time to be an attentive host.

Like Clark, Alex slept in the nude, and didn’t make much use of the heavy blankets, thanks to his coat of fur. His dreams weren’t usually pleasant, but last night, they were filled with visions of Clark, his handsome face taunting him, drifting in and out of the shadows of his mind. Alex woke up moaning low in his throat, murmuring his name, and his little “affliction” was back, throbbing painfully between his legs. Alex considered taking care of it the same way, but he decided instead on a cold bath.

He’d bragged to Clark about the castle’s remarkable plumbing, but Alex needed the benefit of the fresh, cool morning air on his skin and a walk to the lake. He eased into one of his voluminous robes and drew back the thick drapes. He enjoyed the same gorgeous view that Clark had, but he didn’t take any more time to savor it than necessary. Alex climbed over the window ledge and flung himself out, enjoying the rush of air coming up at him as he fell the whole three stories.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM…!

Clark heard the impact of something big hitting the ground and felt the tremors through the floor. “Damn!” he swore as he craned his neck out, looking for the source of the tremors. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, until he caught a glimpse of someone striding sedately into the trees.

It was Alex. Clark was sure of it. He wore a different robe than before, but he had the hood pulled up over his head. That intrigued him.

He looked for his clothes from the night before, but they were missing. Clark huffed; what as he supposed to do, wear nothing? Before he could even phrase the thought, the large armoire to his right creaked as its doors swung open. Clark sucked in a breath of surprise.

So many clothes. He crept forward and rifled through them, neatly hung on the rack. So many choices; he found tunics, flowing, loose pants and fitted breeches, riding clothes, a hunting jacket, doublets, waistcoats, long underwear, leggings, stockings, frock coats, and all of it looked ridiculously expensive. He reached for a simple white linen shirt and sturdy looking brown trousers that buttoned at the waist. They would do.

The clothes fit him perfectly. Clark thought his head would spin.

He crammed his feet into a pair of simple black slippers that were surprisingly comfortable and he decided to take the shortcut out of the house. He flung himself over the ledge in one agile leap, but his landing was much lighter. While Clark didn’t own the power of true flight, he was gifted with the ability to float up short distances. Occasionally he even floated in his sleep, one of Martha’s more frightening discoveries she’d made when he was about eight. He’d levitated downstairs, floating in the kitchen when she had gone downstairs herself to warm up a cup of milk. He woke to the sound of her startled scream, rubbing his eyes and mumbling about what the all the racket was about.

Clark caught up to Alex quickly, but not _too_ quickly, keeping many yards between them. He was intrigued by his trek outside the castle; didn’t he claim that he usually kept to himself?

They reached a clearing, Clark hanging back and committing the path to this place to his memory. Clark saw sparkling water through the trees and shrubs, and he grinned. His farm wasn’t that close to any of the nearest bodies of water; the beach was a day’s journey by wagon for Jonathan, so naturally they didn’t have many opportunities to go there to swim. He watched Alex reach a small outcropping of rock with a cluster of boulders surrounding it. Clark notice his feet were bare, and he gained his second surprise of the day when he saw that they were large, flat hooves. They were the same length as normal feet, but there was only the flat, hard disc of bony tissue there in place of toes, cloven in half.

Unlike Clark, he skipped shoes, and he understood why, but the robe surprised him. He had so much wealth; why dress so plainly? He watched him for a moment as he approached the water’s edge; Clark ducked behind a large maple tree and watched silently. The sun was beginning to rise, brightening the surface of the water, disturbed slightly by the low breeze and falling leaves that it knocked loose from the trees. Clark held his breath as he watched Alex shrug out of the robe, lowering the hood and letting the whole thing drop around his ankles.

“Holy…”

He was tall, that much Clark fathomed the night before, and he was built… like an ox. His back was broad and muscular, and his entire body was solid and sinewy, and covered with a thick layer of dark brown fur. _All over_. The furry layers were finer over his torso, allowing Clark to see the outlines and contours of each muscle group, and he had a foot long, narrow tail that flicked back and forth, not unlike a cow’s, protruding from his lower spine. It slightly obscured the crease of his ass. He had firm-looking, rounded glutes and long limbs that bulged with muscle and barely restrained power.

Most shocking, however, were the horns that appeared to be protruding from his brow, which Clark noticed when he turned slightly at the sound of a croaking frog. Clark ducked further back, and his stomach was roiled with tension. What if he heard him? What if…

Then he shrugged to himself. What if? Clark was bound to see him unhooded at some point, he imagined, so why not now? Perhaps Alex would have preferred less intimate circumstances, when he wasn’t indisposed, but Clark’s eyes roved greedily over him, fascinated by him.

Alex waded into the water quickly, not bothered by the brisk temperature – Clark’s sisters never swam before noon, even on the hottest summer days, but cold never bothered Clark – so Clark knew that fur had to be keeping him warm. When he was submerged up to his waist, he dove down under the surface and disappeared. Clark wandered closer, craving the sight of him again. He decided to throw caution aside and he approached the lake shores, kicking off his shoes beside the heap of Alex’s discarded clothing. Clark waded in up to his ankles, enjoying the cool water and low breeze, drinking in the scent of fir trees. He saw the water still rippling slightly from where Alex went under, and just before he could worry about how long he’d been submerged, Alex’s horned head broke the surface in a cascade of silvery drops. His bony ivory horns gleamed damp and slick and the water matted his fur against his skull.

That was when Clark saw his face.

His father's fearful, haunted account of the beast wasn't unfounded. Dark, stormy gray eyes presided over a face whose lower half resembled a shortened muzzle with the wide, flaring nostrils of a bull. His brow was heavy, and he had thick, sharp cheekbones: his chin was tufted with fur, and Clark caught a brief glimpse of what appeared to be small, jagged teeth.

He flipped onto his back and floated reclined in the cool water, and Clark saw the blurred outline of his manhood, lax and slumbering in the cold temperature, but still...rather impressive. Clark's mouth went dry.

He shook himself. A nagging voice in his head reminded him -none too kindly - that this man threatened his family. Yet...  
...yet he had shown Clark hospitality, bordering on kindness. Part of him empathized with him; Alex was truly alone, and his appearance would ensure that he stayed that way. Wouldn't it.

Except he had Clark, now. He sighed heavily, then caught his breath.

Alex's head whipped itself up from the water, ending his leisurely doze. "Who's there!" he roared, eyes blazing at the indignity of being disturbed. Clark swallowed, steeling himself.

He revealed his presence, stepping out from his hiding place, and he nodded, smiling slightly. "I had the same idea you did. The water looks nice." Alex's eyes narrowed as he treaded water, assessing Clark.

"If you don't mind it a bit chilly, then it is. But you could bathe inside. You had no problem with your accommodations last night." Alex wanted to add "when you exposed your body in all of its damned perfection to me," but he refrained.

"I thought I heard you leave."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, Clark." Alex swam in until he was submerged up to his shoulders, and his damp fur was dark and slick. Clark's fingers itched to touch it.

"I was up, anyway. That's living on a farm for you." Clark went to Alex's pile of clothing and laid down his slippers, then unbuttoned his shirt. Alex felt a spear of panic.

"Why...are you taking off your clothes?"

"I said I wanted to swim," Clark reminded him goodnaturedly. "The lake's big enough for two."

"Forgive me, Clark, but...are you always this immodest?" Clark shrugged, then dropped his shirt.

"I don't stand on ceremony. Neither do you, if you swim out in the open like this, bare. Not that I blame you. It's the best way to take a dip." Clark grinned sheepishly. "We're both boys, here." Alex's mind turned to mush.

Damn, but Clark was beautiful. His green eyes held mischief, and his skin loved the sunlight. "You can turn your head, if you want," Clark offered as he unfastened his trousers. Heat rushed into Alex's cheeks.

"Clark..." He didn't so much as pause in the face of Alex's discomfiture, and the moment those pants began to slide down, Alex ducked his head underwater, unable to trust his own reaction to seeing Clark nude again. He missed Clark's chuckle, but while he was submerged, he saw Clark's feet step into the water, stirring up the muddy lake bottom. He waded forward, and in alarm Alex realized he was still going to get an eyeful... Calves, long and tapered with lean muscle. Knees. Thighs... Oh, Lord help him. 

Worse yet, he was running out of breath. 

Clark dove under the surface, just before Alex squeezed his eyes shut, and he emerged quickly, gasping hungrily for breath. Clark swam a few strokes, sculling smoothly toward him, and he emerged, hair slick as a seal's. He grinned. Alex found him even more stunning that way, water glistening on his skin, making those dark eyelashes look longer, those lips a rosier pink.

"The water's nice," Clark told him smugly.

"Yes," Alex agreed, feeling frissons of embarrassment at being mere feet apart. Clark narrowed it even further, needing to study him up close.

"You'll pardon me if I'm too blunt, Clark, but most people tend to be afraid of me when... you know." Alex shrugged and motioned to his face.

"I got trampled by a bull when I was smaller. I'll admit, I haven't had the best luck with creatures with horns. You have better manners than he does. And you're a better conversationalist." He wasn't fond of the bull comparison, but he would suffer it. But Alex's eyes widened when he heard the word "trampled."

"Trampled? You're lucky to be alive!"

"Not much hurts me," Clark informed him with a shrug, and those lovely green eyes twinkled. Alex's brows rose.

"Me, either."

"So... horns."

"Yes. Horns," Alex sighed.

"Wow."

"You don't have to stare."

"Sorry. Bad habit. But... wow." Before Alex could protest, Clark reached out and gingerly touched the tip of the left one, feeling its smooth texture. He ran his fingertip down the curving bone and made a small sound of wonder. Alex shivered beneath his gaze and at the touch, which almost felt sensual. Clark saw the odd way Alex was watching him and snatched his hand back, wondering if he'd taken too great a liberty.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"It's all right."

"That was rude of me."

"No. Er... it was just... unexpected. You just surprised me. So... breakfast. I tend to eat mine early." Clark's face lit up.

"What are we having?"

"Whatever you want, Clark." Alex waded past him, somewhat reluctantly, steeling himself as most of his torso was exposed. "Clark... could you... perhaps close your eyes? I'm... modest."

"Oh. OH. Right. I'll... just..." Clark turned his back, and he called out, "Just let me know when it's okay. When you're done."

"Thank you." Alex sounded shaken. "Come back to the house when you're finished and dressed. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

Clark swam toward the opposite shore to distract himself and to give Alex time to dress. He was satisfied to finally see what his host looked like, but he hadn't meant to unnerve him. Clark still couldn't believe what he was seeing.

He also couldn't mistake that look in those eerie gray eyes as anything but sadness and loneliness.

*

Clark swam a few more minutes and then sunned himself dry on a warm rock before heading back to the castle. He decided to keep on the clothes he'd put on so hurriedly, deciding not to indulge in the fancier selections his armoire had to offer. He strode back to the castle, and just like the night before, the door swung open to admit him.

"Alex?" Clark called out. When he received no reply, Clark headed for the back corridor, deciding the kitchen wouldn't be that close to the front foyer and sitting room. The rooms and halls were just as imposing as they had been the night before, not much more appealing or comfortable lit by daylight instead of the wall sconces and candles.

He found the kitchen and noticed a tidy little breakfast nook. Oddly, it was empty. Alex said he would meet him there. "Alex?" he called out, but there was still no response.

"So, what's for breakfast, then?" He went to the pantry and opened it, finding it fully stocked with dry ingredients, fruit, and seasonings, oils, honey, smoked meats and other items that he could certainly cobble something together from. Clark's stomach growled insistently.

"Some pancakes might be nice," he murmured. Was Alex expecting him to cook? Clark backed out of the pantry and was about to look for pans, but when he turned around, the sight of a heavily loaded breakfast table greeted him. There was a place set for one with fine silver and china, and a large platter of blueberry pancakes, steaming hot and making his stomach growl. A small pitcher of syrup sat beside it, as well as a dish of fresh butter.

"House, you haven't failed me yet," Clark murmured, shaking his head. "Amazing. So, where's Alex?" The kitchen didn't answer him. Clark sat and waited another couple of minutes, then decided to dig in.

*

After breakfast, Clark wandered the castle, amazed at all of the rooms; they seemed endless. Clark felt like he hadn't passed the same door twice. Most of them he spared only the briefest of glances. Most of the rooms were opulent. None of them looked recently used or occupied. That baffled him.

There were several portraits along the walls. At some point, this had been someone's family home. That spawned hundreds of questions in Clark's mind, but chief among them was: How did Alex end up there alone, with enough property and space to house dozens of people?

Clark came to a bend in the corridor that led to one last door. The knob was stiff; he jiggled it and realized it was locked. Clark made a noise of disappointment. The rest of the castle gave him so much immediate, unrestricted access, so why was this hidden?

Curiosity won out over discretion. Clark concentrated on the door and let his vision shift, focusing until he could see the magnified particles of the door's substance, down to the most infinitesimal molecular parts, then shifted even further, pushing his field of vision to show him what was on the other side of it.

Stairs. Clark lit up.

It was too intriguing to pass up.

*

Alex needed time alone to process his encounter with his guest, and to let his affliction settle and fade. The walk home from the lake had been hasty and damned uncomfortable with a raging erection robbing the grace from his stride. Alex was thankful his robe was voluminous...

He felt guilty for not meeting Clark for his first meal under his roof. Clark had seen him, and he felt shaken. Jonathan had gazed upon his countenance and reacted with fear; Clark merely seemed surprised, which left Alex confused.  
And, strangely, hopeful. It had been so long since he allowed himself to feel so much as an ounce of hope, to dare dream that he would live out his life in any other way but alone.

Alex felt self-conscious about sharing meals with Clark. He knew his table manners and etiquette, certainly, but letting him watch him eat, to bite, sip and chew with his beastly mouth, his jagged teeth... It would be unseemly. Humiliating. Out of the question.

But he couldn't just hide in his chamber. That would make him the poorest host. Look what giving the boy's father the run of his castle had...

Led.

To.

"Shit," Alex breathed. He was up in an instant, striding from his chamber in search of his guest. His heart was pounding far, far too fast.

*

Clark reached the landing and found another locked door; it wasn't his fault, surely, that he didn't know his own strength? He couldn't take much blame if the door knob bent loose from its slot, screws and pins breaking out through the splintered cavity when he turned it too hard? Clark smirked and peered back over his shoulder before entering the suite.

It was an attic.

The space had stood undisturbed for who knew how long. It was huge and airy, with a skylight and long, narrow windows that broke up the shadows. Clark sneezed on the floating notes of dust and fanned away the cobwebs in his path. There was nothing immediately remarkable about it: Clark found several old trunks and shelves, and saw several items propped along the walls covered in sheets. He approached the tallest one and lifted the drape, pulling it off when he saw a flash of silver.

It was an enormous vanity mirror, and all of its glass was broken out except for a few glittering shards stuck in the frame. "That's a shame," he murmured. It looked expensive. How could someone be so careless? He caught a fraction of his own reflection, throwing his own confusion back at him.  
He uncovered three more of the draped treasures. Three more ornate, costly mirrors. Shattered without regard to their value. There were at least a dozen more of them along the walls. Clark felt as though he had walked into a dark secret, and a chill ran down his spine.

*

Alex rounded the corner and cursed when he saw the door standing ajar, the knob bent out of alignment. He swore under his breath; how had Clark jimmied that knob? He rushed up the stairs as quietly as his hooved feet would allow. The second door was also standing wide open, and he felt violated, rage bursting in his chest.

The interloper in question stood in a pool of sunlight streaming in through the skylight overhead, running his hand over the torn canvas of an oil portrait.

"What the hell are you doing up here? Who told you it was all right come in?" Alex's voice was a harsh, guttural growl, full of accusation and hurt. "I welcomed you into my home. But this room is private. You're where you don't belong."

"I-I'm sorry," Clark stammered, startled into letting his hand drop from his reach for the painting. "I didn't think it would hurt anything to just-"

"Invade my privacy," Alex finished for him. "This room... No one is welcome in here. Understood?"

"Yes." Clark's face flooded with shame and his jaw clenched. He felt small and chastened, as though he were five and had been caught snooping in his sister's jewelry box. He felt Alex's anger radiating from him.

It was clear in his harsh, iron grip on Clark's arm. Clark's eyes widened as he found himself propelled bodily out of the attic and back downstairs. "Where are we going?" Clark asked, bewildered. 

No one had ever dragged him off his feet before. Alex had the strength of ten bulls, and Clark could have certainly broken his hold, but not without a struggle. 

Part of him found that wildly appealing...

"Where we can have a little talk." Alex's voice was clipped and hard. Clark's heartbeat stuttered. They went back down the corridor, and Clark was surprised when they headed back down to the first story. They passed his sitting room and headed down the corridor to the left wing. Alex paused by a large door that opened when he stood before, Clark breathing hard behind him in anticipation, still surprised to be pulled along like that.

"This space," Alex informed him sternly, "you may feel free to occupy to your heart's content."

He might as well given Clark the moon.

It was a library, filled with so many shelves of books that his head spun. Clark's mouth dropped open, and he numbly shook off Alex's grip on him and began to wander around. Alex huffed in annoyance.

"This isn't a tour. You made a grave mistake."

"And I said I was sorry," Clark told him, contrite. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"They're called locks, Clark." He stepped between Clark and the bookshelf he was reaching for. "Apparently we need some ground rules."

"Do we?"

"No going through my attic. Ever."

"I guess that also means you won't tell me why the mirrors-"

"No." Alex bared his teeth with this injunction, and Clark winced. Sore subject; moving on.

"You'll tell me when you leave the house. For a swim, for a stroll, even if the castle were on fire."

"Why? Don't trust me?"

"No," he repeated. His eyes and voice were flat. Clark bristled.

"Will these rules spell out what I'm expected to do? You just wandered off without any word about what you wanted from me. You took me from my family, Alex. You haven't been very clear about why."

Both men glared at each other, fuming. Alex broke contact first, lowering his eyes to the floor.

"Happy reading. Stay out of my attic, Clark."  
*

The day's revelations overwhelmed him. He did precisely what Alex asked, occupying himself in the library for the better part of the day. He took his supper alone, which frustrated him. After the sun went down, Clark settled himself in the comfortable bed, but sleep eluded him for a long time.

He slowly drifted off, letting his mind slide into the shadows, where his consciousness sorted through the day's discoveries and uncertainties. The dream loomed up from the darkness, taking shape and substance, making him a captive audience.

Or...perhaps an enthusiastic participant. Dreams were unpredictable animals. For Clark, they occasionally led to his "floating" problem, a condition he really wanted to give someone a stern talking-to about, ranking the nuisance value in the same category as hang nails, sour milk, or his eldest sister's incessant whining. About everything. Once Clark entered into puberty, in addition to suffering the painful growth spurts, cracking voice, ridiculous appetite and mood swings, he developed another affliction that plagued him with sleep, or more accurately, when he woke from it. Having to linger in bed those extra minutes to make an "adjustment" felt wasteful, and perhaps a bit shameful.

Very shameful.

Light. Gorgeous streams of sunlight. The room was bathed in it as it poured in through the large bay windows. Clark felt himself moving, walking, heard his own footfalls against the marble floors. Like every room he'd explored so far in his unusual host's home, the furnishings were opulent and beautiful. Unlike the other rooms, however, every item in it was pure, unspoiled white, from every beewax candle to the very last tasseled pillow. The scent of roses tickled Clark's nostrils. Before he could wonder about the source, lilting music filled the space around him, played by talented hands. An amused sounding baritone caught his attention.

"You look lost." Startled, Clark turned and faced the music - literally - and a pair of shrewd slate blue eyes.

"Er... I am," Clark admitted. "I have been, more or less since I came here." His new acquaintance was seated behind a large white piano with a pearly finish, and his upper body moved subtly in rhythm with his concerto as his fingers flew over the keys. He didn't stop playing as he replied.

"You didn't mean to come here?"

"No, I did." Clark reconsidered the question. "Sort of." Thin, well-shaped lips smirked, completely at Clark's expense.

"Perhaps not willingly?" He emphasized that last word. Clark nodded grimly.

"Perhaps not." The young man nodded thoughtfully - knowingly - and bent back over his keys.

"Ah." Clark approached slowly, reaching out to touch the piano's temptingly shiny surface. "Did you have somewhere you needed to be, Clark?"

"How did you know my name?"

"Let's just say I heard positive things about you."

"Really?" Clark's brows rose. The conversation was escaping him, now, yet... he wanted it to continue. His new acquaintance intrigued him too much. "I'm sorry I can't say the same. Er... not because there's nothing positive about you, but, I just haven't HEARD..." He stopped stammering when the young man - not much older than Clark was, he guessed - chuckled.

His laughter sounded delicious. Even though it was at Clark's expense.

He was remarkably handsome, with patrician features and firm bone structure. His head was bald and flawlessly smooth, no hair to distract from his masculine beauty. His fair skin was unblemished and glowed with health.

"That doesn't speak well of me, then, either way, does it?" 

"Maybe not," Clark admitted, and his lips twisted into a smirk. The young man chuckled again.

"You'll just have to get to know me firsthand, then, to cure you of that bad impression."

"There's not much to cure me of," Clark assured him. "You play well." It was an understatement. Clark could listen to him play all day, easily, watching those long, slender fingers stroke the keys, feeling that music roll through him. His expression was soft and content.

"You enjoy music?"

"Very much."

"Do you play?"

"No."

"That's a shame. It's one of my passions." He played a series of rolls, and then the melody slowed down. Clark listened, rapt. "So, what do you do, Clark?"

"Not much, besides working on the farm." The young man's brows drew together.

"Sounds awful."

"It puts food on the table. My father sure appreciates it." Those blue eyes measured him, and he abruptly stopped playing.

"I'll bet he does. Big, strapping son like you. He's a lucky man." Clark felt a wave of shame.

"Not at the moment. Not with me here. I should be with him. Helping him."

"Are you the only one who can help him?"

"He relies on me-"

"Just you?" Clark paused, swallowing.

"Mostly me."

"That means you're not the only one he can count on, then, from the sound of it."

"Tell that to my sisters. They aren't very helpful." Clark could feel his face twisting into a bitter expression. His host frowned.

"Sounds unfair."

"Life's unfair." He thought about his mother's passing, felt his fists clench. "For some of us, anyway. Who don't pursue their passions." The young man blinked, then closed the piano's cover over the keys. He edged his bench back and stood, approaching Clark and taking one of his hands in his warm grip. He was nearly as tall as Clark, of medium build, and he smelled like lavender and fresh air. Those blue eyes searched Clark's for a moment. Strawberry blond eyebrows quirked before he allowed Clark a little smile.

"Maybe that needs to change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have all kinds of fanficky, fanarty weirdness on my Tumblr as ceeceereeves. FYI. If that sort of thing interests you...


	6. Stipulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark continues to dream, and to get to know his host a little better. Alex gets a visit from an old acquaintance, and a grim reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for the comments so far! I'm relatively new to AO3, so I appreciate any interest anyone has in my stories. Updates to this won't be too consistent, so I apologize. Real-life stuff and smartphone constraints are big obstacles to me right now. Happy reading. Happy creating.

The next couple of days weren't much different from his first; Clark spent a lot of time in Alex's library, carefully avoiding rooms that Alex told him were off-limits.

Alex was disgruntled and moody following Clark's trip to the attic. Clark sensed that Alex was rattled by his discovery and invasion of his privacy. Clark felt chastened once he'd had the chance to mull over that happened. Of _course_ Alex had issues with mirrors, he realized, and Clark felt a pang of pity.

Alex began to accompany Clark in the kitchen, even though he limited himself to cups of tea, coffee or wine while Clark dined, still self-conscious about eating in front of him. Clark wanted to tell him he didn't stand on ceremony, but he didn't want to press the issue. When Clark would take his dishes to the wash tub, they would instantly return themselves to the cabinet, washed and dried, and part of him wished for the simple chore, just to occupy himself.

But in the meantime, he perused the bookshelves of the enormous, cavernous library, climbing the rolling ladder to reach the higher selections. Most of the books were immaculate first editions. Clark immersed himself in the novels easily enough, often taking a cup of tea with him and just sitting by the fire until his stomach growled, prompting him to emerge from his nest. Alex still made himself scarce, making Clark wonder again about his purpose.

On the fourth day, he'd had it.

Clark clapped his green leatherbound book shut and left it on the ottoman and strode out into the corridor. "ALEX!" he called out. "Where are you!" His voice echoed back at him, and he felt slightly embarrassed; it wasn't dignified to try to get his attention that way, but it was a large house. "I know you're here," Clark muttered aloud. Clark took a different tack and scanned the house, focusing with the aspect of his vision that enabled him to see through walls. He probed each room, row after row of them in both wings of the house, but he saw no sign of his errant host.

"I'm going to find you," Clark told the sitting room. "Even if it means going into your precious forbidden rooms, Alex."

He turned to leave the room, but his eyes landed on the small, marble-topped side table. There was a small silver object with a long handle that winked up at him, gleaming in the light. Clark approached and picked it, turning it in his hands. It was a mirror. He frowned, curious. It hadn't been in the room when he entered. "Odd," he murmured. He stared down into the glass, and as he gazed at his reflection, the surface clouded up and swirled with vague images. Clark realized that he was holding a piece of the castle's strange magic in his hands, and a little thrill of delight fluttered in his gut.

"Where is Alex?" Clark inquired. The mirror thrummed in his hands, and the shapes grew clearer, shifting into various plants and trees. As he watched, Clark saw Alex walking out from behind a statue of a cherub. Clark smiled.

"You don't like being hemmed in, either, then," Clark mused. "Can you take me to him?" Clark inquired. The mirror pulsed once, and Clark felt it jerk for a moment, glowing more brightly. 

The mirror willed him to move to the right, and Clark began to head to the castle's east wing. He only hoped Alex wouldn't mind company. The solitude was driving him up the wall. He trekked past the rooms that he'd rejected before in favor of the more simply furnished one that was beginning to feel more comfortable to him now, and he found himself led to a room on the left.

It was a solarium that led out into a garden. The room was suffused with light thanks to its glass walls. Clark felt the sunlight infusing his cells immediately, giving him renewed energy. He saw the door's small brass knob and turned it, letting himself out into the fresh air.

 

Alex looked up at the sound of the door's light creak and Clark's footsteps. He scowled slightly, looking up from the star jasmine bush that he'd bent down to sniff. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same. You picked a nice place to hide."

"I wasn't hiding," Alex pronounced, slightly indignant. "I just stepped out for some air."

"I wouldn't have minded an invitation."

"From your warden?" Alex deadpanned, straightening up.

"From my host," Clark corrected him. "I appreciate having free run of the castle, but I wouldn't mind some company. Not that the awkward silences haven't been entertaining."

"Ah." Alex nodded. "My apologies, Clark, if I haven't been very... attentive." Clark noticed that his eyes looked tired, drooping slightly.

"You look like you need a nap."

"That's... perhaps too honest, but not a surprise from the one who compared me to a bull that tried to gore him as a child." Clark had the decency to blush.

"That was rude of me. I'm sorry. But you do seem tired. You didn't sleep well?" Alex was mollified by his concern, which seemed genuine.

"Not as peacefully as I would have liked. I turned in early enough." Clark bit back a retort that he would have been glad to talk to him for a while, if it would have helped tire him enough to sleep, but he didn't want to paint himself as a bore.

"You picked a good day to come outside. It's beautiful here."

"Your father found it tempting enough," Alex mused. That made Clark's tentative smile disappear. His lips tightened and his posture became stiff. "Sore subject?"

"It was my fault he took the roses. And that's the only reason why I'm here."

"Ah. That's the _only_ reason." Alex wouldn't admit to him how much his words pricked him. "I hadn't planned to let you come out here."

"There aren't any mirrors to smash," Clark reminded him. "Are the statues keeping any secrets? There weren't any locks to break." Alex's lips quirked.

"I guess not." Clark rubbed his nape and sighed.

"Now that I've found you, can we talk?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"What do you want me to _do_ here?"

Alex watched him for several long moments, then let his eyes dart away. He sat down on a stone bench and folded his arms.

"That's still not set in stone."

Clark looked puzzled and slightly impatient. "Yet you'll take me from my family."

"What did I really take you from? A life of hard labor? Ungrateful sisters?"

"A loving father who isn't getting any younger."

"A loving father," Alex murmured. "You're right. I may have been remiss in keeping you here. While you're unwilling." The last word held a note of doubt. "I can't speak to what it's like to have a loving father. I envy you, Clark. And I'll admit, I want to get to know you. I think you're intrigued by what I have to offer. I also think you've seen little of life outside your family's farm. Have you gone to school?" Clark shrugged.

"I had to stop."

"Of course you did." Alex shook his head sadly. Resentment welled in Clark's chest. "So much potential."

"You won't make me regret my choice."

"No. I won't. I don't want you to regret it." Alex stood, resolute. He approached Clark and extended his hand. "At the risk of sounding anymore awkward... I'm going to start over. My name's Alexander. My friends, when I had any, called me Alex." Clark hesitated, his green eyes probing Alex's for a moment. His fingers felt strong and warm as they closed around Alex's hand.

"Call me Clark. And I think I'd like to hear more about what you have to offer."

"Walk with me, Clark."

*  
They started over. 

Alex joined Clark in the library after supper, and the two of them played several games of chess. Clark was a worthy opponent, winning half of their matches and impressing Alex considerably. When they finished, Clark perused the library the book shelves with Alex by his elbow, recommending different selections. Clark was delighted that Alex had read so many of them and respected his choices. By the time they'd retired, both of them were exhausted but content. Clark smiled as the fire in the grate automatically extinguished.

"Clark... Thank you. This was a nice afternoon."

"Yes, it was." Clark reached over and squeezed Alex's shoulder. Alex was too aware of his warmth, in the strength of his grip and his scent. "Good night, Alex. See you in the morning."

 

"Good night, Clark." Alex reluctantly turned away, heading for his suite.

"Alex?" Clark asked softly.

"Yes?" Clark's expression was contemplative.

"That offer... that I made before. If you ever... ever want someone to talk to, to help you sleep..."

"I'll manage tonight, Clark." He gave Clark a hint of a smile. "Sleep well." Clark lingered a moment as he watched him walk away, feeling strangely bereft. He went to his room, undressed and climbed under the covers. He stayed awake for a while, replaying the day in his head.

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

*

Alex had no such luck. He needed a glass of red wine to coax him to sleep, and when he did, the images were disturbing, and too familiar.

He found himself walking in his garden, and the trees tossed back and forth with a strong breeze, whipping leaves at him in swirling eddies. Alex lifted his hand to shield his eyes from specks of debris, when he noticed that it was smooth and white, no talons to be found. He looked down incredulously at his palms, those of an ordinary man, and he made an exclamation of joy.

"Nice weather we're having," a smooth female voice told him, startling him. His eyes darted toward those words, then narrowed.

"Why are you here?"

"That's no way to greet a guest."

"You weren't welcome the last time we met."

"That's true," said the lovely vision before him. "But look how well that worked out for you." The woman was willowy, almost as tall as Alex, and her figure was graceful and curvaceous. Shining, ebony waves of hair flowed down her back, and he saw his annoyed face reflected in her dark blue eyes. "I'd think you would have learned to be more hospitable by now, Alex."

"Again, why are you here?"

"Just stopping by to give you a reminder." He nodded stiffly and closed his eyes.

"Of course you are."

"You have a birthday coming up." She walked across the trail of stone pavers to the large cluster of white rosebushes, his prized flowers. She reached for one, stroking its fluffy petals and inhaling its scent. Then, she savagely snapped it off the stem. Alex felt his heart pound.

"Don't," he pleaded roughly. "Please."

"Oh, Alex," she tutted. "You haven't managed your time well, have you? A man in your position shouldn't waste so much as a minute. Not when you have so little time left." She stroked the petals of the rose against the contour of her cheek, giving him a smug look.

"I was young... I was more foolish then."

"Why wait for wisdom to come with age?" she asked, shrugging. "It's so wasteful."

"I... I'm a different man than I was before."

"Thanks to whom?" she challenged. "You would have been only too glad to live the life of excess and irresponsibility for the rest of your days if I hadn't... intervened when I did."

"I made a mistake. One mistake, and you've punished me for it for so long-"

"An apt punishment, indeed. Selfishness doesn't become you, Alex. Although I supposed very little does, nowadays." She tucked a lock of her hair behind her long, gracefully shaped ear that ended in a sharp point at the top, a sign of her faerie heritage. "I don't have to remind you of our bargain, surely. The spell can only be broken by love, pure and true."

"I know." His voice was full of despair. "I'm working on it."

"It wouldn't be so much work if-"

"I know. We've had this discussion. I'm growing tired of it, Zatanna."

"Bold words," she purred. She leaned over and tapped the rose playfully against his chest. "For a doomed man."

"Don't underestimate me. You don't know Clark. You haven't met him. He has a big heart. He's kind, and-"

"I've seen him," she told him, and she tapped her finger against his temple, "in here. That's not the only reason you're so fond of him, and so quickly." Alex didn't admit to her that he was attractive, that Clark aroused burning desire in his chest every time he looked at him. "He's a pretty thing. You like pretty things, don't you? You surround yourself with them, and shun things that don't please your eye." Her face hardened for a moment, and her eyes swirled, their blue irises shifting to gleaming, deepest black, and Alex shuddered. "Still so shallow."

"No... no. Not anymore."

"No?" And she snapped her fingers. In that instant, she disappeared and an old, hideous crone with lank white hair and acres of wrinkles took her place, grinning at him with gappy teeth. One of her eyes was gruesomely deformed, the iris blind and opaque. Her body was wizened and her gown was shapeless and brown. Alex recoiled. "This form doesn't please you?"

"You struck me the cruelest blow when you wore the face of an angel."

"True. Fair enough." She snapped her fingers again, and she returned to her true form; she didn't look anymore sympathetic to his plight. "I like to make memorable exits." Alex remembered how fearsome and beautiful she'd looked when she pronounced his judgment, and his curse.

*

It had been a stormy night, winds strong enough to make the shutters bang and the trees toss. Dark clouds obscured the moon and stars, and it wasn't fit for man nor beast to be outside in such a gale.

That's why it surprised Alex to be disturbed by a loud knock. He nodded to one of his servants to open the door and handle the guest who came to him without notice. His servant opened it and nodded in response to the words delivered in a low, crackly voice. Then he turned around and gave Alex a sheepish look.

"She requests an audience with you, Lord Alexander." Alex rose from his seat and laid down his glass of wine and novel.

"It had better be good." He approached the door and found a homely old woman, soaked through with rain. Her shabby cloak was full of holes and clinging to her skinny body. She nodded and smiled to him.

"Good evening, kind sir," she told him. "This is some night we're having, eh?"

"Not a night for poor, miserable souls to be out visiting and lurking," he mused. She nodded hastily and cackled, a screechy, disagreeable sound.

"Too right!" She wiped her hands off on her cloak and stepped closer, peering in through the doorway. "Looks like you have a toasty fire. Good night for one."

"It certainly is. I suggest you go find one, madam, but look elsewhere for one." She looked astonished for one quick beat, and then stammered a reply.

"Sir... certainly, you must be joking. What a grand sense of humor you have! I only ask for a few minutes in front of your fire to chase the chill from these old bones of mine-"

"That's a few minutes too many, old woman. I don't allow just anyone into my home. I don't know you. You're filthy and surely crawling with mites. What on earth are you doing so far from the village, and in this sort of weather? That can't be for any noble purpose." She made to interrupt him, but he held up his hand. "Look elsewhere for a place to warm yourself. You won't lurk here." She stepped back, letting her smile drop. Her expression grew resigned.

"Very well, then, Lord Alexander." She snapped her fingers, and in an instant, Alex's life went to hell.

*

His unwelcome guest chuckled wickedly. "You should have seen your face! It was like-" and she pulled a look that combined horror and surprise, throwing up her hands to mimick someone deflecting a blow. "It was priceless."

"Glad you were entertained," he sighed. "Look, Zatanna... I hate to take up your time." Her smile dropped, and she sighed.

"Very well, then. I won't take up much more of yours, with that in mind, when you have so little left. Remember how the spell works, Alexander. Pure, true love, before the last of the roses fade." She held up the rose in her hand and let an errant breeze catch it, and it drifted away, shedding petals in its wake. Alex grew slightly sick as he watched its flight. "Or you will perish."

*  
He woke up bathed in sweat, tangled in his sheets. Alex groaned aloud and sat up, scrubbing his palm over his face. Her words haunted him, and he'd never felt more helpless.

"Clark, let me be worthy of you."


	7. These Dreaming Eyes of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both young men continue to reach out to each other, even in their dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note. It's so hard not to follow the Disney model of this fairy tale more, but I did too much with White Rose, which is why it is languishing unfinished. I will be frank, though: This may get furry. Clark is fond of Lex, regardless of his appearance.

The next few weeks passed quickly for Clark, and perhaps too quickly for Alex. Yet, he couldn't regret it, when Clark was so engaging, filling his time and his days with light and laughter. They never ran out of things to talk about, and Alex no longer felt the need to hide from him, growing more comfortable with letting Clark see him without the obscuring hood. 

They spent their days inside the library, at the lake, and in Alex's garden. They took walks in the surrounding woods, and Clark absorbed everything Alex told him like a sponge. They read history and pored over huge maps in the study; they read plays, each one taking the different parts to amuse themselves; Clark shared his talent for drawing and sketches began to litter a large table in the study, capturing everything he saw, whether it was the horses in the stable or the star jasmine that was doing its best to take over its corner of the garden.

And every night, Alex pined in his large, elegant suite, alone. Spring was giving way to summer's humid days, and his roses were in full, vibrant bloom. He grew anxious and desperate, but he knew that his fate rested with Clark and his kind heart; only he could decide to make room in it for Alex.

Gifts weren't the answer. Clark didn't want them. He never wore jewelry and had no preference for fine clothes, nor did he care for cologne, or candy, or random little trinkets. Clark's needs were simple, and he was satisfied with so little that Alex felt almost ashamed of his own avarice. Clark's smile could be bought for a seat by a warm fire, tea, biscuits, and a game of cards, and it became a cocky grin whenever he beat Alex.

Clark only grew more attractive the longer Alex spent time with him, and it was difficult not to find small excuses to touch him, whenever he handed him things, or if Alex chided him for getting himself filthy when Clark convinced him to let him work in his garden. Clark looked up from where he was resting at the feel of Alex's fingers swiping at the dirt streaking his brow where he'd wiped at his sweat. His touch was gentle. Alex pushed back an errant lock of Clark's hair that had fallen over his eyes, then looked embarrassed once he'd realized what he'd done. But he couldn't regret it, when his hair was so soft, when that skin was so firm and smooth.

"You're a mess," he told him.

"Can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I like getting dirty."

"I can see that. No one's ever tried to civilize you?"

"Ma tried." He stared off into the distance. "She was always a lady. Pa always said he married above his station, but that it never mattered to her. She knew it was a lost cause, with us living on a farm." Alex smiled, nodding.

"I can see that. Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry." They were about to leave the garden when they heard a tiny peeping sound. Clark followed the noise toward one of the tall birch trees, and his expression softened.

"Look. It's just a baby." Alex followed him and watched him bend to scoop up a tiny baby finch. It cheeped pitifully and looked distressed where it was captured in Clark's large, gentle grip. Clark crooned to it and stroked its tiny head with his fingertip. "C'mere, little fellow. It's all right."

"Fell out of its nest," Alex remarked.

"We need to put it back," Clark murmured as he stared up into the tree's branches.

"I don't have a ladder out here," Alex told him. "We can check the stable?"

"Won't need it," Clark assured him with a little smirk. 

"How else are you planning to get..." Alex's words trailed off as Clark slowly rose off the ground. Clark floated up, up, smoothly so as not to distress or jostle the tiny chick, and he searched the branches for the nest. He made a pleased sound when he found it, drawn by the sound of the finch's siblings. Clark gently lifted the bird into its home, chuckling when it cheeped at him in protest when he took away his warmth. "Sit tight. Your momma would have been upset if you hadn't come back." He hovered, watching them in fascination for a moment.

"Clark." Alex's voice was full of awe. "So... Have you always been able to do that?"

"Not always." Clark peered down over his shoulder at his friend and his smile faltered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." Clark saw the bleak look on his face and he floated back down to meet him.

"I didn't realize I could fly-"

"Fly?!?!" Not just float. But fly. Alex's mind reeled.

"Until I was about thirteen. I floated sooner than that, but it wasn't the same as... Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Er... Clark, I don't mean to seem like... I mean..." Alex looked and sounded flustered. "You can FLY."

"Yes. Yes, I can." He looked concerned. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, but... You can fly. Damn it, Clark, you can actually fly, all this time you've..." Alex turned away from him and paced, rubbing his nape uneasily. "You could have left any time you wanted."

Clark frowned outright. "But... I didn't."

They stared at each other, neither of them sure of what to say. Alex stared down at the ground. "You can fly," he repeated softly.

"We decided that already."

"You're perfect." Clark shook his head, but Alex nodded. "Because why couldn't you. You're already too good for-" Alex stopped himself. 

"Alex?" Clark felt confused by the slump of Alex's posture, of the way he closed himself off as he walked away from him at a fast clip. "Alex, wait!" They'd been enjoying themselves so much; what went wrong?

"Go ahead and eat without me," Alex told him in a bleak tone. "I don't have much of an appetite." Clark felt his stomach knot.

"Alex," Clark murmured. "I... I don't understand..." But he just stood there, watching Alex's retreating back, wishing he had the answers.

*

Alex spent the rest of the day in a black mood. He took supper in his own suite, but he still didn't feel much like eating. He politely refused Clark's entreaty to join him in the library for one of their evening chess games, and he felt guilty when Clark turned those sad, beautiful green eyes on him, filled with so much disappointment. But he needed time to process this new knowledge and how it affected his budding friendship with his guest.

"He could've left," he muttered aloud. Easily. Yet he stayed, a thought that fed that tiny sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, Clark wouldn't want to leave him. That maybe he would stop feeling coerced... and simply feel welcome.

The memory of him floating up in the air lingered, looking so happy and vibrant, and so much like an angel given human form... Clark had taken Alex's breath away, and in that moment, proven himself unobtainable. The urge to talk to him about how he felt was strong, but Alex knew it was too easy to misstep and ruin everything.

So. There it stood, this bleak future of hating himself until he perished, alone. 

*  
Both of them fell into troubled sleep that night in their respective suites. They each carried their misgivings and doubts into their dreams, tossing and fighting their way loose of the covers. One dwelled on the futility of wanting someone he couldn't have; the other wondered why he was suddenly being cast aside.

Clark strolled out into the garden and was greeted by the scent of roses and star jasmine. A faint breeze was blowing, ruffling his hair. The scene before him was perfect, making him wish he had his drawing pencils.

"It's a nice day for a boat ride," a soft baritone rumbled beside him. Clark smiled.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

"Then shall we?" Clark's smile widened when warm, strong fingers wrapped themselves around his. The headed for an opening in the gate and down a narrow trail, one Clark didn't recognize.

"Do you like to row?"

"I never have before," Clark admitted. "You'll have to show me."

Clark's companion never released his hand, and he enjoyed his comfortable grip and the feel of his firm, smooth skin, the drum of his pulse beneath his fingertips. They headed for a large boathouse whose sides were heavily draped in ivy and kudzu.

"After you." Clark preceded him inside when they slid open the wide bay door, and a well-built rowboat hung from rails suspended from the rafters; two oars hung from the wall on pegs.

"I'll take that." Clark headed for the boat. "You can get the oars, if you like."

"You don't want help?" Strawberry blond eyebrows rose in surprise, and Clark enjoyed the faint quirk of his pink lips.

"I won't need it, but I appreciate the offer." With that, Clark took the boat down from its hooks as though it weighed nothing and carried it over his head to the door. "Where do you want to cast off?"

"We'll head to the pier. It's not far."

"Lead the way, Lex." He caught up to Clark easily with his long stride, then moved ahead of him with the oars, taking them farther down the trail and to the left. Gradually, the edge of the lake came into view, as well as a short pier made from dark planks.

"You picked a good day for a trip."

"Every day's a good day for a trip with you, Clark." Clark looked up into Lex's face where he bent down to lower the boat into the water before they cast off. His expression was almost playful, giving Clark the smirk that was growing more familiar and expected. Clark got in first and slid the oars through the locks, then anchored them long enough for Lex to climb in and take the opposite seat at the bow.

"You want me to row?"

"It's as good a time as any to learn." Then he shrugged. "Let me show you first. We'll switch in a minute." Lex crouched slightly and shifted over to Clark's seat, sitting beside him. They were shoulder to shoulder for a moment, and Clark caught a whiff of his scent, still owning that provocative bit of lavendar. Lex took the left oar and demonstrated with a couple of smooth strokes, making the boat turn in that direction. "See how I'm putting my shoulder into it? Make sure the blade goes in straight, so you're not just skimming it flat against the surface. Otherwise, you won't get any pull." Then Lex moved off the seat, but he handed Clark the handle of the other oar and arranged his grip. Clark regretted the loss of his warmth against him, but he shivered at his capable grip on his hands. Lex felt his reaction and that smug smile rose a notch.

"Think you can handle it, Clark?" A frisson of anticipation curled in Clark's stomach at the question, at the veiled intent.

"Only one way to find out." Clark shrugged, and he ducked his face shyly, but when he glanced up at Lex again, he was grinning mischievously.

Lex felt he could get lost in those green eyes, and never want to come back.

They sculled across the vast lake and chatted easily, savoring the sunshine and light breeze. "You're good at that," Lex remarked.

"I had a good teacher."

"I like showing you new things." The sound of the water lapping against the hull and the dip of the oars surrounded them as the wind toyed with their clothing, rustling their loose shirts.

"What else can you teach me?" Clark was still rowing, more slowly now as they made their way closer to the opposite shore.

Alex's hand reached for his, stilling it. Before Clark knew it, he was kneeling between his spread knees and closing up the space between them, fingers curling around his nape. "Alex?" Clark husked.

"I can teach you this." The whispered words steamed hotly over his lips, and Clark shivered again, heart pounding as he inclined his face those last few millimeters... liquid heat poured through him as Lex's mouth stroked his, a chaste, soft caress. Clark's eyes shuttered and he sighed into it. His grip slackened on the oar, and Lex reached out to catch the handle before it could slide out of the lock and into the drink. Lex chuckled as he pulled back.

"I think... I'd like another lesson." Clark wisely pulled the oars up into the boat and he reached for Lex this time, and he kissed him in earnest. This time Lex made an appreciative little noise and his mouth softened and relaxed beneath Clark's, coaxing him to open for him. Clark cupped Alex's smooth nape, drawing him close, and the kiss deepened and grew hot. Lex's hands fisted themselves in the collar of Clark's shirt as he took what he needed from him. Clark opened for him, and his tongue was velvety and liquid as it swept inside his mouth, stroking a desperate groan from him. When they broke apart, he was nearly breathless.

"You're a quick study."

"And you're beautiful," Clark told him. Lex leaned into his caress, then lightly kissed the edge of his palm. Then he gave Clark an ironic look and shook his head.

"You wouldn't think so if you really knew me." Clark's smile faltered.

"I'd like to get to know you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I do!"

"Clark... I'll only disappoint you."

"You couldn't, Lex." Clark's words were full of certainty Lex felt he didn't deserve. Lex sighed and shook his head.

"You make me want things, Clark. Impossible things."

"There isn't much I consider impossible." Said the boy who could fly. "And I'm finding that it's okay to want things...even to ask for them, once in a while." He smirked. "Sometimes it works."

Alex sobered, and he caressed his neck, staring at him reverently. "Then ask me for anything. Even the moon." He would give it to him in a second.

Before Clark could speak, Alex felt his muscles lock up and his body being jerked back, away from Clark. "What's hap-" Clark's eyes widened in surprise as Alex found himself stumbling back, then falling over the edge of the tiny boat. The icy water closed around him, swallowing him up in a rush of bubbles. "ALEX!" Clark cried. "ALEX!"

He was sinking fast, despite his struggle to swim back up to the surface. Alex's breath rushed out in streams of bubbles, and his lungs felt like they were being squeezed in a giant fist. Panic gripped him, but it was soon replaced by desperate hope as he watched Clark dive in after him. Clark loomed above him, hands cleaving through the water like paddles as he pursued him. Alex continued to sink, retreating from the sunlight. He saw Clark's face contorted with fear, dark hair swishing in the currents. Alex reached up toward him, but he only sank faster.  
He saw spots before his eyes and the growing shadows around him changing shape, swirling and warping until they formed a feminine silhouette.

_You're not worthy. You might as well give up now._

Zatanna's face watched him sadly, her accursed voice in his ears. NO! He shook his head helplessly, watched the span between him and Clark grow ever wider no matter how fast he swam down.

_I'm not worthy..._

It was his last thought before he came thrashing awake. Several doors down, Clark was gasping and covered in sweat, sitting up and holding his head in his hands. * 

He couldn't return to sleep. Clark went to his desk and nodded to the wall sconce. It automatically lit itself, as did a large candelabra. He took out a sketchbook, a gift from Alex, and he turned to a fresh page. Clark began to draw, needing to clear his head. He immersed himself in the sound and feel of the pencil scratching across the page. He had no particular subject in mind; his hand knew what substance it wanted to shape on the sturdy paper. Clark worked well into the night on his sketch, and the tension in his neck slowly eased, and the last vestiges of the troublesome dream faded away. 

Clark awoke the next morning at dawn, slumped at his desk. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes groggily and stretched. He accidentally sent his drawing pencil, now dull, skittering across the table and rolling into the floor. He bent to pick it up, and he noticed his sketchbook was still open in front of him.

He stared down in shock at the handsome man from his dreams, rendered beautifully in pencil, shaded with a loving hand.


	8. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: When you love someone, set them free. If they don't come back... You perish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying not to get blocked. I really want to finish this story, and keep it more in the vein of the fairy tale. I have a soft spot for Lex. I always do.

"Alex?" Clark's large hand felt warm and comforting where it grasped his shoulder through the fabric of his customary robe. "Can we talk?" Alex stiffened anyway, dreading the discussion he knew they had to have.

"Of course we can." Alex made room for him on the stone bench. He was leaning back slightly on the heels of his hands, watching the flock of sparrows take flight, disturbed by a strong breeze. Clark's shoulders were broad and Alex told himself that was why it was pressed closely against his own, that there was simply too little space to fit them both. He tried, too, to ignore the effect that contact was having on him, sending warm tingles through every nerve and making his cheeks flush. Clark smelled like soap and the natural sweetness that his skin seemed to own. Clark gave him that slow, gentle smile that Alex loved...that he craved.

"I wanted to ask you if I could go home. If you'd mind. Just for a visit."

Time stopped. For several seconds, Alex forgot to breathe. A traitorous voice inside him insisted _You knew this would happen._

"You want to leave my home?" Alex tried to sound nonchalant, to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"I'd like to see my father. It's been weeks since he's laid eyes on me," Clark phrased gently. "It's not because I want to leave you."

"Are you sure, Clark?" Alex felt his eyes burn; he willed his voice not to crack.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Clark insisted. His hand covered Alex's, and his grip was warm and snug. "I'm worried about my father and my sisters, Alex." Alex stared at their linked hands, unable to look up into that face, so earnest, achingly beautiful, those lips spilling words to break his heart.

"You would leave me?"

"Alex...please. It's not that I want to leave you." He squeezed his hand. "I don't. I just want to check on him. I want him to know that I'm fine." He stroked Alex's furry hand with his thumb, contemplating it. "It was hard on him when I left."

Alex wanted to agree and to admit _I know. I broke his heart when I took you away from him. His admission of guilt with his cruel act would drive Clark away more quickly. Alex knew this wasn't the time to grasp at straws. Autumn was coming. The brightest blooms on his cherished rosebushes were beginning to turn and wilt. This wasn't the time to wine and dine Clark or shower him with gifts that would only feel like bribes. He wouldn't coerce him, couldn't plead with him. It would be beneath him._

__"Alex," Clark murmured, "yesterday...when you saw me float. You seemed upset. I was wondering if...if you were all right with it. Did it unsettle you?" Alex straightened up and stared at him fully._ _

__"Oh, Clark. No. I wasn't upset with you, I was just... Let's just say I was shocked. That wasn't something I see everyday."_ _

__"Flying farm boys aren't common in these parts?" A smile toyed with the corner of his soft pink mouth._ _

__"You looked like an angel." Alex's face closed up again, and he reluctantly stood, depriving himself of the precious contact that he didn't feel he deserved. Clark let Alex gently remove his hand from his grip as he gave Clark his back._ _

__"Let me prepare. Give me a week."_ _

__"A week? That's not long, Alex, are you sure?" Clark suddenly felt guilty at the distress he'd caused him. "I can wait, if you want-"_ _

__"The sooner you go, perhaps, the sooner you can return." He tried to will hopefulness into his voice._ _

__He began to head back into the solarium, and Clark automatically followed. Alex's manner became brisk. "I don't want you to go home emptyhanded." The word "home" stung as it left his mouth. If Clark noticed, he said nothing. "I want you to think about what you'd like to take with you."_ _

__"That's very generous, Alex, but-" Alex drew up short and reached for him, and his touch was tentative._ _

__"Clark. Please. Let me do this." Clark nodded. They retired to the library for several of their ubiquitous games of chess. Alex was subdued, but he made a concentrated effort to engage Clark and be present in the moment, knowing that they were numbered, and precious._ _

__He couldn't appreciate Clark's feelings of conflict when he told him to take whatever he wanted back home with him. He remembered his father's look of bleak defeat when he returned home laden with gifts, and how his world grew dark as he divulged the price. Clark considered the items in his own room, then in several others that Alex allowed him to have free run and first pick of, but his heart wasn't in the process of the selection._ _

__The thought of leaving behind what was most dear to him destroyed any joy in taking anything else. What he couldn't explain to Alex, even though he'd finally admitted it to himself, was that his time with his beastly host changed him, showing him so much that he didn't know was missing in his life. He looked forward to Alex's self-deprecating laughter and insight, shaped from his smooth baritone. Alex shared everything with him, knowledge in every subject, accounts of where he'd traveled, which puzzled Clark, when he seemed so reclusive, and that made him burn with curiosity to know his secrets._ _

__He'd never have the opportunity if he left him. Clark had an uneasy feeling that if he left Alex behind, he might never lay eyes on him again._ _

__His dreams reflected this, full of dark images, feeling himself reaching for Alex and instead being pulled away from him the more he fought to approach. Clark awoke with a start, bathed in sweat that was already chilled on his skin, telling him he'd tossed and turned for a while._ _

__Before Clark made his request, more drawings of the man from Clark's dreams began to litter his desk. Each one grew more vivid than the last, the details growing more prominent with each sketch. His hand mapped out the curves of his cheek and jaw, captured the tiny scar above his lip and the arched brows in pencil strokes. His name continued to evade Clark during his waking hours, a secret that lived in his subconscious. He felt a warm haze from the memories, even as they faded; the phantom from his dreams was eloquent, intelligent, charming and easy to talk to, and Clark was smitten with him, even though it felt foolish._ _

__And disloyal. Clark felt so guilty over his attraction to someone who wasn't real, but more importantly, who wasn't Alex._ _

__As time passed, he felt Alex's tension, saw the needs he wouldn't express, even though Clark knew his purpose for living under his roof: He was Alex's companion, and surely, he had certain _expectations._ Clark sometimes looked up from his books, or from any of Alex's impromptu lessons on the piano - he'd been delighted to find that he played, and that he was so skilled at it - to find Alex staring at him with so much need, and what Clark could only define as hunger. But Alex didn't express it, didn't ask Clark to oblige him physically, and despite their continued trips to the lake to swim, Alex still remained modest, and he avoided taking the liberty of watching Clark when he waded into the water, taking advantage of the warm summer days. It was difficult to resist that temptation to stare at his flawless skin and supple body, and he still felt so much shame in his own nudity, unwilling to let Clark see him in his entirety. He didn't realize how much Clark saw on their first swim together when he came upon him, floating supine and content._ _

__All Clark saw was a virile, healthy man with attributes that inspired admiration and that made his breeches feel tight. Clark was fully developed and had the needs of a man his age, and he craved affection. Jonathan and Martha gave him a life that was very sheltered from those who would seek to profit from and abuse his gifts. The end result was a constant sense of loneliness and always feeling like he was different. Clark was unfortunately inexperienced in the ways of relationships and intimacy. It frustrated him._ _

__When Alex lowered his hood, Clark no longer felt like he was alone. In a house that made his bed for him before he could blink and where food appeared out of thin air, and where his host was the owner of horns and hooves, Clark felt... Normal. It didn't matter that he could crush rocks in his hands, or that he floated in his sleep, or that he accidentally shattered the footboard of his bed after a particularly bad dream when he kicked it. Alex seemed all right with it...didn't he?_ _

Clark felt dread form a hard ball in his stomach. What if he was willing to let Clark go _becausehe was so different? What if Clark frightened him? He continued to borrow trouble as he planned his visit home, worried and fretful about how Alex would handle it when it came time to leave. *_

On the first day of his last week at the castle, Clark strolled its halls in search of his friend and was surprised to find it empty. Night had fallen, and his large suite had the door ajar, and the sheets hadn't been slept in. Clark wandered inside, and he noticed the window was open, and a warm breeze stirred the curtains. He went over and leaned over the sill, searching the grounds.

___"You aren't tired?" Alex's voice drifted down to him, and Clark twisted around to follow it. Alex smiled down from his perch on the roof. "Good evening, Clark."_ _ _

___"I was in the mood for a walk, but I couldn't find you. If you didn't want to come with me, I at least wanted to tell you good night."_ _ _

___"That's thoughtful of you."_ _ _

___"Do you spend a lot of time up here?"_ _ _

___"Not lately. Just once in a while, when I have a lot on my mind." Clark made a thoughtful noise in his throat._ _ _

___"If it's all right, I'd like to join you."_ _ _

___"Be my guest." Alex almost told him that he'd taken the stairs from his attic and used a ladder to crawl through the sky light, but Clark merely leaned out the window and floated outside, graceful as a leaf. He rose up to meet him and sat down beside him. Alex sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking pensive and sad. "There's a lot of stars out tonight."_ _ _

___"It's clear enough to see them all," Clark agreed. "It's a perfect night to be out here like this." Clark turned to him. "Alex, I asked you before, but are you upset with me?"_ _ _

___"No. Just...I'm not looking forward to an empty house while you're gone, that's all. I won't have you around to fill my ear and nose around and get underfoot. You're a little nuisance." His expression was sober until Clark grinned at him. His face was so beautiful that it made him ache._ _ _

___"It's been my pleasure to get on your nerves." He bumped his shoulder against his playfully. Lex bumped him back, then sighed._ _ _

___"Visit your father. I won't have you worrying about him and letting this weigh heavily on your mind."_ _ _

___"It won't be for that long. Just a few days, Alex." Clark reached for his hand and cradled it in his warm grip. His thumb stroked his knuckles, studying the soft texture of his fur. "You'll hardly know I'm gone."_ _ _

___"Oh, I'll know. And I'm rather used to being alone." Comfort and peace lived in Clark's grip, and it traveled through Alex with the contact, settling over him like a blanket. Clark felt his slightly thready pulse, heard his heartbeat skip._ _ _

___"There's the little bear. And the hunter." He pointed up at the stars._ _ _

___"And the Big Dipper," Alex added. "It's a lovely night, isn't it?" Clark swallowed around a lump in his throat, feeling his eyes burn._ _ _

___"It is when I'm with you."_ _ _

___Alex's breath hitched. Clark turned to him solemnly and reached for him, hesitating. His eyes asked him for permission as he gently caressed Alex's cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Alex felt himself tremble beneath the warm touch and the reverence in those green eyes._ _ _

___"I just wanted to say good night, Alexander."_ _ _

"Sleep well, Clark." He drifted back down to Alex's window. Alex felt bereft of his touch and his sweetness as he languished on the roof, more aware than ever of what he stood to lose.

* 

On the second day, Clark drew Alex's portrait where he sat in the garden against a tall oak, capturing the intelligence in his eyes, showing him surrounded by his statuary and star jasmine. Alex was initially reluctant, but he relished the quiet time spent together.

___"Why did you want me as a subject this time?"_ _ _

___"Why not? I'm enjoying myself. You're a good model." Alex mulled this._ _ _

___The last time anyone had done his portrait, he wore his finest clothing and sat in his study, letting his lips relax in a slight smirk, no horns, fur or talons in sight. He never thought anyone would ask to capture his image again, in any medium. He watched Clark work, enjoying his look of concentration and the sound of his pencil sliding over the paper._ _ _

___He didn't realize he had dozed off until Clark stroked one of his horns teasingly. "I'm finished, sleepy head. Take a look." He unrolled the sketch and handed it to him. Alex made a thoughtful sound._ _ _

___"This is how you see me."_ _ _

___"I didn't do you justice. I had already finished most of it before you fell asleep." Alex could only stare at the portrait, tracing the features Clark had rendered with a careful hand. He hadn't looked at his own image since he first saw his transformation; the broken mirrors confirmed this._ _ _

___"You're very talented, Clark."_ _ _

___"Thank you for letting me do this." He took the drawing and rolled it back up, and he reached for Alex's hand, helping up to his feet._ _ _

___"I can't imagine why you would want it. With me looking-" Alex let his words die, and he turned away, giving Clark his back._ _ _

___"I wanted something to make me think of you." Clark reached for his hand again. "Let's go inside. It's time for supper."  
*_ _ _

___On the third day, Clark knocked on Alex's door shortly after dawn. Alex's groggy, squinting face greeted him when he cracked the door open. He glimpsed his bare chest and flushed when he realized he wasn't dressed yet._ _ _

___"Good morning."_ _ _

___"Ever the early bird." Alex yawned. "Even I don't eat breakfast this early."_ _ _

___"That's not why I'm here. I wanted to know if you'd like to come flying with me."_ _ _

___That woke him up. "Flying?" he asked incredulously. "You want to take me flying with you?"_ _ _

___"Yes. If you want."_ _ _

___"High up in the air."_ _ _

___"That's usually implied," Clark confirmed, and his lips twitched. Alex wasn't sure he liked the mischief in his green eyes._ _ _

___"You won't let go of me?"_ _ _

___"Of course not! You'll be safe and sound. I won't let you go."_ _ _

___The silent statement that lay between them, _I never want to let you go,_ made Clark's heart heavy._ _ _

___"Let me get dressed." Clark didn't bother to hide his delight._ _ _

___"Wear something warm."_ _ _

___Alex met him back at Clark's room, where he stood by the window, curtains brushing up against him where the breeze blew them in, ruffling his thick dark hair. He turned and smiled, and his silhouette was edged in sunlight._ _ _

___"This is a nice change. That robe's so bulky."_ _ _

___"It's comfortable." Alex suddenly felt shy under his gaze. "I don't get out much."_ _ _

___"Maybe that needs to change, Alex." They stepped out onto the small balcony and Clark faced him. "Put your arms around me." Alex obeyed him, then hesitated. The winds outside picked up, flattening his fur against his skin and catching in the folds of his white shirt._ _ _

___"You're sure this is a good idea, Clark? You don't usually have a passenger, do yoooUUUUUUU!" Clark grinned, circling his waist in his strong arms and leaping into the air. Alex squeezed his eyes shut as the ground grew farther away, and he felt dizzy. His heart pounded all the way up into his throat, and he wanted to smack Clark when he heard his chuckle against his temple._ _ _

___"Take it easy," he encouraged. "You have to let yourself get used to it."_ _ _

___"No," Alex moaned. "No, no, no. There is NO getting used to this, because we are not doing this again!"_ _ _

___"Don't say that," Clark said, and Alex heard the pout in his voice from where he had his face buried in Clark's collarbone. He had a death grip on his shirt and he was breathing fast. Adrenaline made him break out in little chills, fanned by the wind that was snatching at his clothing. "I've been wanting to share this with you."_ _ _

___"If you wanted to share a heart attack with me, you're about to get your wish, Clark Kent," Alex groaned._ _ _

___"Alex, please just open your eyes." They were soaring smoothly over the lake, and the sun was beginning to brighten the clouds. "It's a beautiful day."_ _ _

___"Promise me we'll get down if I do."_ _ _

___"Take a look. Then decide." Alex's eye cracked open, and he saw Clark's face. Amusement danced in his eyes, and he gave Alex a squeeze. "You'll be all right."_ _ _

___Alex looked down, just a glimpse._ _ _

___The lake was sparkling with golden glints, and the treetops swayed in the breeze. Alex saw small animals that looked like small dots as they scurried through the woods. They narrowly evaded a flock of sparrows - sparrows! - as they flew over the woods and past the cliffs. Alex never saw the rockface and peaks from this vantage point, and he stared down at it in awe._ _ _

___"It's amazing."_ _ _

___"It is, isn't it?"_ _ _

___They followed another flock of birds over a river that fed the lake, and it was shallow but active, starved of any recent rain. Clark flew them east, and Alex began to ease his grip, muscles unlocking from their rigidity, and Clark felt him melt against him, finally._ _ _

___"I think you're getting the hang of it," he mused._ _ _

___"Don't be cocky about it." Alex thought he sounded far too pleased with himself, but he felt himself smile at the sight of a family of deer feasting on a patch of berries. Perhaps he was enjoying it, but he couldn't give Clark too much satisfaction, could he? Not after the scare he'd had._ _ _

___But Clark showed him everything. Against his previous wish to land, he flew them far and wide, over mountains and valleys, soaring over rooftops and fields of wildflowers. Clark took them higher, where they nearly touched the clouds, but he saw Alex shivering against him and his breath growing shallow, and he descended to let him recover. Alex was awed by everything that he saw, through Clark's eyes, envying him for his majestic view of the world, and admiring the power it took to sustain their smooth flight, of the gift he chose to share with him. Alex was moved beyond description. His breath hitched, almost a sob. Clark fretted for a moment._ _ _

___"Have you had enough, Alex? Would you like me to take you home?"_ _ _

___"Not... not quite yet." Clark nodded, his jaw brushing Alex's temple._ _ _

___"All right."_ _ _

___They flew to a cliff overlooking a copse of trees and another river. Clark took them down, and Alex's legs wouldn't support his weight. Clark supported him, unwilling to let him go as Alex caught his bearings._ _ _

___"You do this all the time?"_ _ _

___"When I have the time."_ _ _

___"If you meant to take my breath away, you succeeded." His breathing was still harsh, but he was exhilarated. His breaths steamed Clark's neck in little whorls, and he was still clinging to him._ _ _

___"Is this still the last time you'll go with me, then?"_ _ _

___"Maybe not the absolute last time," Alex recanted. "I might be persuaded again, if-" He let his words drift again._ _ _

___Clark was leaving. He was going home to his father. That opportunity might not surface again. Alex closed his eyes, and his arms crept up around Clark's neck so he could embrace him fully. "Thank you, Clark." Relief washed over him when Clark returned the embrace just as warmly, just as tightly._ _ _

___They stood like that for a few moments, just listening to the wind blow._ _ _

___*  
Despite the precognitive, foreboding feel of his dream where he was pulled under, Alex invited Clark on a boat ride, tempting fate, granted, but he wanted to give him this, the experience that he'd missed living on the Kent's isolated farm._ _ _

___"This is nice. This was a good idea, Alex."_ _ _

___"It'll be too cool for a boat trip, soon enough," he replied. "Let's make the most of it." Clark rowed them toward the edge of the lake where the river fed into it. They cast off, hooking wriggling bait and lures and letting themselves float, oars pulled up into their locks._ _ _

___"What do you want out of life, Clark Kent?" Clark huffed a laugh, shaking his head._ _ _

___"What does any man want? An honest trade. A comfortable home. A family, one day, if fate wills it. To continue learning. To improve myself and leave good works behind."_ _ _

___"A family like the one you were born into?"_ _ _

___"Not exactly the same. And I wasn't born into it. I was found."_ _ _

___"What? Found... Clark, were you abandoned?" Pain for him mingled with confusion in Alex's breast._ _ _

___"That's the assumption. Someone couldn't keep me. Pa thinks it might have happened on the night of the Green Storm." Clark looked contemplative and sad. "Pa never found my parents. They might not have survived the storm. So many properties surrounding ours were crushed by the rocks." The villagers old enough to remember the Green Storm told tall tales about the size of the glowing green stones that rained down from the sky. Alex dimly remembered it as the night he lost his hair. He had a hard time recognizing himself in the old portraits painted when he was about six, with wild, curling red locks that hung well past his ears. It was painted shortly before the storm. Alex felt himself slipping into melancholy. That night, he lost his mother and younger brother, Julian, when the solarium was hit by a falling boulder. Half the suite was crushed; their bodies were pulled from the rubble. His father, Lionel, was a changed man, no longer loving or caring, with an inexplicably bald remaining son for an heir._ _ _

___Alexander was raised by nannies and learned not to expect affection unless he paid for it. When he reached manhood, he solicited courtesans and gigolos, keeping company undignified for one of his station. His father despaired of his failure in raising him, regretting how distant he'd been when he realized how cold and vain Alexander had become._ _ _

___He passed away after his court physicians failed to cure the damage to his kidneys after years of drinking his nightmares away. He died a broken, bitter man. On his death bed, Alex held his sallow, wasted hand. He turned large, hollow eyes up to him, pleading with him._ _ _

___"Find someone... To love. Give them what... I gave your mother. What I should..." His words drifted off. Alex wiped away his own tears that cooled on his cheeks, reaching over to close Lionel's eyes. He hardened his heart against anyone who deigned to want anything from him or thought to care about him. Anyone could be bought. Those who gazed on his physical beauty found him brittle and cold when they scratched the surface, once they were lured in by his easy charm._ _ _

___His heart thawed the moment he met the sweet boy who only asked for roses, who had eyes like emeralds and a devastating smile._ _ _

___"I was the only son in my house," Clark mused. "Having daughters wouldn't be difficult."_ _ _

___"How about having a wife?"_ _ _

___"I haven't thought that far. I don't know that just any woman could accept what I am. What I do. Unless her circumstances are exceptional. And if she believes in magic." Alex was saved from finding a retort when his line twitched. "You've got a bite!" Together they reeled in a large trout._ _ _

_____They just as quickly released it when they discovered neither one of them knew how to clean or cook it. They laughed and chatted as Clark rowed them back to shore. Alex mulled over what Clark told him of his life, heart opening up a little wider for the boy he must have been._  
*  
On the fifth day, they camped outside under the stars after building a roaring fire. They packed a modest supper in a basket and roasted chestnuts, watching the stars. They huddled close against the chill in the air, sharing warmth and space. Alex leaned back against a fallen tree; Clark used it as a makeshift bench. He stared at Alex, earning himself a curious look. 

___"What?"_ _ _

___"How does it feel?"_ _ _

___"How does what feel, friend?"_ _ _

___"Fur. What's it like?" Alex snorted in disgust._ _ _

___"A nuisance, if I had to be honest." Alex stared down at his hands, suddenly hating his talons, hating the coat of hair slicking over his fingers and wrists. "It itches, sometimes. It smells strange when it's wet, no matter how well I wash it. It's awful in the summer, but it's handy once there's snow on the ground."_ _ _

___"Alex? May I touch it?" Alex's mouth went dry._ _ _

___"I guess that would be all right. If you must." He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a hint of need that he couldn't keep out of his voice. His hands shook until he clasped them in his lap. He continued to stare down at them as Clark reached for him._ _ _

___His touch was a slow, tentative slide down Alex's nape. "It's soft as a kitten's," Clark murmured. Alex shivered and a sharp bolt of arousal lanced into his gut. He held down a gasp, then shuddered in pleasure when he stroked his neck again. "It feels so nice," Clark husked. "So silky and warm." He stroked him again, taking the liberty of touching him as long as it was offered._ _ _

___Alex was purring under his hands. It had been so long since anyone caressed him or shown him any intimacy. He was starved for it, almost ashamed of how he clung to Clark the other day, breathing in his scent, absorbing his warmth. Clark was watching him with something akin to rapture._ _ _

___"Alex?" Clark asked._ _ _

___"Yes?" His voice was a breathy rasp._ _ _

___"Are you cold?"_ _ _

___"Not at all." Clark licked his lips, hand stilling on his shoulder. His fingers toyed with the seam of Alex's heavy robe._ _ _

___"Then...do you think we could take this off?" Alex's heart stopped for a few beats, then began to pound like a thousand hammers._ _ _

___"Off? Y-you want me t-to take it...this...?" Clark tried not to chuckle at his stammer and flummoxed look and failed. His touch was warm and fond when he caressed one of Alex's horns. Alex closed his eyes and leaned into it. "You want to see me?"_ _ _

___"Very much."_ _ _

___"All of me?"_ _ _

___"Yes, Alex." His hand drifted from Alex's shoulder to the ties at the neckline of his voluminous, concealing garment. He toyed with the ends, and he slid down off the log to sit beside him, leaning into his heat. "Please?"_ _ _

___"Clark. It's... I'm just so... You can't want this..."_ _ _

___"Alex. I can. Believe me." He cradled Alex's cheek in one large palm. "Are you afraid to let me see you?"_ _ _

___"I...I don't know why you'd want to. Clark, I'm hideous." Clark shook his head, and his face was solemn._ _ _

___"No. Don't say that. I know what I like. I know what I want." He leaned in to him, watching Alex's eyes dilate, seeing the slight flare of his nostrils, hearing his breath grow unsteady. "I gave you the sky, Alex. Please give me this?"_ _ _

___Alex's mouth went dry. He nodded before his brain could find any rationale not to give Clark what he was asking for, and every cell in his body thanked him for that decision when Clark began to touch him again, his fingers making quick work of the ties lacing his robe shut. His fingertips grazed his collarbones and chest as he unlaced them and spread open the panels of fine cloth. Clark made a small sound of awe as he revealed his muscular chest with its downy layer of fur, and his green eyes were full of yearning. "Look at you," he whispered, so reverently that Alex's eyes burned. Clark slipped the sleeves down over his shoulders, freeing lean arms corded with muscle, covered with more of that fine, tempting coat. Clark trailed his fingers down Alex's chest, gently teasing one of his small beige nipples. Alex groaned and closed his eyes._ _ _

___"I thought you lived...out in the sticks. Where did you learn-" Clark closed in on him, tilting his head down for a kiss that was anything but chaste. Alex whimpered as he surrendered himself to it, lips going completely pliant with each insistent stroke of Clark's, and he finally gave in to the urge to plow his fingers through his glossy black curls. He returned his kisses passionately and let his hands roam over Clark, fingers finding shirt buttons and cuffs, and he moaned at how good Clark's hands felt sliding over his skin. He freed him from the nuisance of his shirt, and Clark's skin felt smooth and hot beneath his eager palms. Clark gasped when Alex teased his nipple the same way he had done. Alex kissed a scorching trail down his neck, cradling his jaw in his hand, tilting it back to give himself better access. Clark's eyes shuttered in pleasure as Alex's tongue lapped over his collarbones and mapped out the expanse of his chest, and he didn't object when Alex pulled him over him to straddle his lap. Clark's trousers and the pooled heap of Alex's robe were the only barriers between them as they communed through kiss, through fevered touch. Clark's fingernails lightly scored Alex's back when he nipped his earlobe, drawing it between his jagged teeth; he made a low purring sound as he suckled it. "So sweet," Alex murmured against Clark's rapid pulse._ _ _

___"Need you," Clark rasped, lost in the rapture of Alex's lush heat and softness, wrapped around his hard body that was straining up against his. His hips ground down at the hard knob buried beneath Alex's robe. He was locked in Alex's arms, overwhelmed with the feel of him, skin caressed by his ticklish fur._ _ _

___"You have me. If you need me, you have me. I'd give you anything you ask me, even the moon." The words struck a familiar chord. "Push up for a moment." Clark obliged him and let Alex undo the fastenings of his trousers, and he moaned at the feel of his hand flattening against the mound of his manhood. Alex smirked and squeezed him, kneading the stiff, swollen flesh. Clark backed off his lap and knelt upright while Alex worked him out of his clothes, and he brushed a finger over the turgid head of his cock, already rosy and gleaming. He teased it to watch it bob and twitch, then grasped the silky length and pumped. Clark shuddered, body arching into the act, giving himself over to him without pause. "Alex..." he breathed. "Oh, God, that feels-" Alex silenced him with another hard kiss, and all thought and words between them were lost._ _ _

___They rolled together over the puddle of their abandoned clothing, using Alex's robe as a makeshift bed. They moved together and showed each other what they couldn't put into words, unable to do the feelings justice with any method than touch._ _ _

___They lay sprawled together some time later, sated and boneless, staring up at the stars. Alex made a small noise when he felt a patch of damp seed tacking up in the fur across his belly. Clark chuckled, kissing his jaw._ _ _

___"The benefits of that fur still outweigh its faults."_ _ _

___"Said the boy who can fly. I like your benefits more." Clark hooked his leg around Alex's hip and snuggled against him._ _ _

___"I like this," he told him. "I like being with you." Alex stroked his skin languorously, urging him into sleep._ _ _

___"I like being with you, too, Clark."_ _ _

_____Yet he was leaving him. If Clark felt the incremental tightening of Alex's embrace around him, he didn't show it. He felt the press of Alex's lips in his hair before he drifted off._  
*  
They were both quiet and subdued the next day as Clark planned out his trip home, selecting a modest few gifts to take back and packing a satchel of clothes. 

___"Those are all you want to take?" Alex frowned at the short stacks of neatly folded shirts, trousers and breeches lined up on Clark's bed. Clark nodded, shrugging as he began to fill his satchel._ _ _

___"I won't need much if I don't stay that long."_ _ _

___Hope flared in Alex's chest._ _ _

___"You have some nice things here." Alex caressed a dress jacket hanging in the armoire that matched Clark's eyes. "Don't want to try any of them on?" He lifted it out and held it up to him. "It's well-cut. It'd suit you."_ _ _

___"I don't have much of a preference when it comes to clothes," he admitted. "I sleep bare." Alex returned his slow, wicked smile._ _ _

___"Yes. You do." Alex laid the jacket on a nearby chair and hooked his fingers into the waist of Clark's trousers. "You do, indeed."_ _ _

___"No sense in being overdressed. I'm just a farm boy, after all." Alex shook his head._ _ _

___"Not _just a farm boy." Alex pulled him flush against him and turned his face up to Clark's hungry kiss.__ _ _

____"I'll never finish packing if you keep stopping me," he murmured against him, and Alex was fighting a smile._ _ _ _

____"What? Am I in your way?"_ _ _ _

____"A little." Clark's hand clutched at folds of Alex's robe. "This is in my way," he clarified, and Alex yelped at the sharp tearing noise made by his robe as Clark shucked it off of him. "Too many clothes..." His voice was a dark, sweet husk against Alex's throat._ _ _ _

____"Brat," Alex muttered, but he was just as impatient, talons rending through the fabric of his shirt, scattering buttons._ _ _ _

____"Awwww...that was my favorite," Clark pouted. But Alex's gaze was dark, his grip sure as he reached for Clark's sex, stroking him roughly through his pants to make him close his eyes and moan._ _ _ _

____"Then, you can just wear me." Alex throbbed for him, stiff and hot. More tearing sounds, and Clark's trousers and breeches lay tattered on the floor, and Alex caught Clark against him, wrapping his legs around his waist and carrying him to the bed. He swept the satchel and the rest of the unpacked clothes off onto the floor, and they fell into the cool sheets, craving each other again._ _ _ _

____"You're beautiful, Clark." Alex stared down into his face, letting the vision burn itself into his memory._ _ _ _

____"Alex," he whispered. He shook his head, but Alex nodded. His kiss was slow and lingering, drinking all of Clark's flavored and tasting the little sounds working their way up from his throat. Clark's hands framed his face, and he took from him, heat, passion, strength and devotion as they began to rut against one another. Alex's hands learned the dents of Clark's narrow hips, how his sensitive nipples hardened into little pearls, how he liked to be stroked to almost to completion before Alex replaced them with his eager mouth. His groans of pleasure thrummed through Clark's flesh as he swallowed him down, making Clark writhe and come apart. He grasped Alex's horns and held him where he needed him, letting those lapping swallows pull at him until he shattered. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, a blissed out smile draped over his face._ _ _ _

____"What about you?" His voice was dreamy. Alex lingered between his long, supple legs._ _ _ _

____"Don't worry about me. Just relax, Clark. Close those pretty green eyes and lay back." His mouth drifted lower, tongue sweeping over the tender divide where his back met his front, and Clark shivered, reaching up to clutch the pillow under his head._ _ _ _

____"Alex...what're you do...?" Clark's voice drifted off as he felt the insistent press of Alex's tongue testing the barrier of his opening. Alex's thumbs firmly spread Clark's cheeks apart, and he moaned over his flesh and how it quivered as he let Alex in. Alex was hard as a rock and leaking; he wanted Clark so badly, needing to possess him fully if this was going to be the last time. He wanted to mark him, to burn the memory of his touch, of his kisses into his flesh. He wanted Clark to dream of this on long, cold nights and wake up with Alex's name on his lips. He drilled into him, massaging his cock back to life. Clark's inner thighs rubbed against Alex's horns and his mouth formed his name over and over. Clark's hand met his where it was closed around him, and he helped him pump him, spreading the droplets of moisture over his skin. "Alex, please!" Alex pulled away from Clark's nethers, regretting it when he was making progress in turning Clark into a screaming mess. He joined him at the head of the bed and teased at his opening with his fingers._ _ _ _

____"I want you, Clark."_ _ _ _

____"Take me! Please!" Clark was panting, reaching for him, pulling him against him._ _ _ _

____"I might hurt you, sweetheart. Sometimes, it hurts."_ _ _ _

____"You won't. You can't hurt me, Alex." Clark reached down and touched him, satisfied to find him damp and swollen. "Take me. I want you to, Alex. So much." Clark pumped him, making sure Alex's head bumped and rubbed against his opening as he did. Alex's self-control and patience evaporated._ _ _ _

____"I can't tell you no." He lifted Clark's legs and wrapped them around his ribs and lined them up. "I would use my fingers, but..." He waved his talons meaningfully. Clark shook his head._ _ _ _

____"I'm ready for you." Alex teased his opening with the plump head of his cock before pushing inside him with one hard, clean thrust. All of the air was crushed from his lungs, all reason left his head at how it felt to be sheathed inside Clark. Alex's mouth went slack and he let out a shuddering breath._ _ _ _

____"Clark...oh, God, Clark..." He was so tight and hot._ _ _ _

____"Alex...if you care about me at all... Even a little. Will you please. Move." The look Clark gave him was pure sin. He clenched his muscles around the intrusive flesh._ _ _ _

____Alex moved._ _ _ _

____His thrusts were long, smooth snaps of his hips, hands twisting in the covers. Clark's legs clamped around him, tight as a vise, and his mouth was an 'o' of pleasure as Alex claimed him. Clark was overwhelmed by the new, heady sensations, of being filled, locked together, of being completely connected. Alex rocked into him, awe written in his features. His climax was climbing up his spine, and his sac was drawn up into a painfully hard ball where it slapped against Clark's ass. He shifted them, rearing up and draping Clark's legs over his shoulders, thrusting harder, faster, finding that sensitive knot of nerves inside him. He gripped his thighs and rode him, and their suite filled with the chorus of their cries, the creaking of the bed, and their panting breath. Clark felt himself getting close, again, and he tipped his head back into the pillows._ _ _ _

____" _Clark, Alex cried. His voice was desperate and harsh. "Oh, God... Clark..." The sound his climax wrung from him was guttural and loud, and his hips jerked and snapped, hard and fast, pushing them both over the edge.__ _ _ _

_____They collapsed against each other, a puddle of stickiness still warm between their bellies. Clark's leg hooked itself around him as he settled Alex more comfortably against him._ _ _ _ _

_____They were close to dozing. The sconces and candles extinguished themselves without either of them voicing the need. "Alex?"_ _ _ _ _

_____"Yes?" Clark's arms tightened around him._ _ _ _ _

_____"I want to leave a little after dawn. So I can get home in time to make breakfast." Alex stiffened against him, but relaxed when he felt Clark's lips moving against his brow._ _ _ _ _

_____"That's fine." Clark's large, warm hands smoothed over his fur and stroked him into slumber, but his dreams were still, predictably, troubled._ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. There was smut in this. Lots of smut. And yes, Lex is still a beast. That will resolve when this concludes, I promise. (Hint: Making love and BEING in love are not the same thing. Suck it, Disney.)


	9. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark returns home for a visit. He reconsiders whether his family needs him much after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely. This is actually the fastest I’ve finished a full-length story in ages. If you’re still reading this after the last furry chapter (feel like I’m listening to crickets), then thank you. One more chapter might do it.

Clark watched the sun rising slowly above the trees through the curtains, smiling as Alex shifted against him. His long, warm body was plastered alongside his, filling in his dips, planes and hollows, his fur warmed Clark’s skin, and his arm was clamped around his waist in sleep.

It was so difficult, knowing he would have to climb out of bed in a few minutes. He hated to disturb his bed partner – he couldn't really call him his host anymore, not after so many weeks, not after he’d grown so attached to him – and pack his things. Clark was still exhilarated by the thought of going home and seeing his family.

He stroked the elegant slope of Alex’s back, mapping out the lean muscles and perfect bumps of his spine, and Alex protested sleepily.

“S’too early,” he grumbled into Clark’s neck, but he nuzzled him, breathing in his warm scent. Clark smiled against his temple.

“Morning.”

“Yes, it is.” Alex’s dark eyes cracked open and squinted at him. “You look far too beautiful for someone who just woke up.” Alex yawned. “I think I hate you…”

“Awwww…” Clark pouted. Alex suffered the trail of kisses over his brow without complaint, sighing. “I need to finish packing. And we need to have breakfast.” Alex’s grip on Clark tightened.

“That’s fine.”

“I was thinking of staying for about a month.” Alex’s eyes squeezed themselves shut.

That would take them right into autumn. Alex swallowed thickly. “Whatever you want, Clark. However long you think is best, will be fine with me.” Clark caressed him, fingers combing through the hair at Alex’s nape. 

“Will you be fine that long?”

“I told you, Clark, that I’m used to being along. Don't concern yourself with that. Just focus on enjoying your visit.” Alex disentangled himself reluctantly from Clark’s embrace, wishing he could remain draped over the expanse of Clark’s chest until noon. He wouldn't be that selfish.

Clark watched him move about the room, retrieving his robe. He donned it and pulled the curtains all the way open, tying them back with silver cords. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He went to Clark’s bathing chamber and gestured to the tub. It filled itself with hot water on cue, and this time he sprinkled a handful of white rose petals on its steaming surface. “Wear something nice.”

“I will.” Alex wouldn't look at him as he headed for the door; it hurt too much, seeing that rosy skin and perfectly sleep-tousled hair, those lips still puffy with sleep. “Alex?” He paused by the doorframe, clinging to it for a moment.

“Yes?”

“I… I’ll try not to be long.” Alex nodded and took his leave.

Clark bathed leisurely, breathing in the fragrant steam of the water. He’d never be able to look at a Rose without thinking about Alex. He rubbed a limp petal between his finger and thumb, musing. Perhaps he wouldn't need to stay away the whole month. Clark could make up his mind once he saw Pa, and when he had the chance to assess how he was doing without him. 

The girls were no doubt driving him crazy. Clark’s lips twisted as he washed away the funk of the night’s activities. He dressed quickly in a richly embroidered white tunic, dark gray trousers and a matching doublet. Gleaming black boots shod his feet. Clark dabbed on some cologne from a small amber flask and combed his hair, deciding that he would pass muster.

He picked up his two satchels and set them up on the bed. He opened one and tucked his pillow inside, the one where Alex had rested his head. He wanted to breathe in his scent when he went to sleep, so Clark could relive the memory of his touch, of his low, husky voice in his ears. Clark buried his nose in the soft down briefly before closing the bag. He looked around the room and also found his sketchbook. He added that to his smaller satchel, along with a couple of pencils and a vine of charcoal.

Alex was nursing a cup of coffee when Clark came and joined him; a cup of Clark’s favorite tea was waiting for him, with a small pitcher of cream and jar of sugar. “You aren't hungry, Alex?”

“I don't have much of an appetite, just yet. But have whatever you like.” Clark set down his packs and went to the cupboard. He pulled down two plates, but Alex shook his head. “I really don't want anything, sweetheart.” Clark’s eyes crinkled.

“I can make you some pancakes. I’m out of practice-“

“That’s all right. I’m fine with this.” Alex sipped his drink and gestured to Clark’s plate at the table, which now had a steaming platter of pancakes waiting beside it.

“All right.” They were relatively quiet as they had breakfast. With a thought, Alex cleared away their dishes, but not before wishing up a tin of shortbread for Clark to take with him.

“Come with me,” he bade him. Clark followed him out into the garden, a place he’d enjoyed having free run of during his stay. Alex nodded for Clark to sit on the bench, and he set the packs beside him. “Take this, and put it on.” He held out a gold ring, and his hand shook slightly as Clark took it.

“I don't need a gift, but it’s lovely, Alex.”

“It’s not a gift. It’s your way home. When you’re ready to go, you will twist it once around your finger. And I have one more thing. You may not need it, but…” Alex swallowed around a lump. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the mirror that Clark had used to find him before. “If…you want to see me, if you think of me at all.., never mind, you don't have to take it if-“

Clark snatched it from him quickly, feeling his eyes burn. “Please. Please let me keep it by me, Alex.” Alex’s good intentions warred with the selfish need to be able to see Clark every day that he was gone, albeit remotely. “I appreciate this, Alex.”

“Make sure to behave. Remember to tell your father about being locked up in your prison with all of the rats, roaches and spiders.” Clark grinned and shook his head.

“I’ll be sure to throw in the beatings, too, and show him my bruises and scars. Wouldn't want him to think I had it too soft.”

“Of course not.” Alex took Clark’s hand and slid the ring down his finger, then bent down to kiss his knuckles. “Have a wonderful trip. I will see you in a month.” He remembered one more thing. Alex parted from him and went to his rosebushes, and he carefully broke off several of the precious stems. Clark shook his head. 

“Alex, you don't have to do this…”

“Take them to your mother. Tell her I wish I could have met her. She sounds like a lovely woman who raised an amazing son.” Alex felt a flash of pain seize his chest, but he mastered it. The ground felt like it was swaying beneath him. “If you come back before the first frost, then perhaps we can both take her roses next time.”

“I will only take a month,” Clark told him as he noticed the worry in his eyes. 

“Take care of your family, Clark. They need you.” Alex leaned in for a chaste kiss, but Clark would have none of it. His fingers curled in the neckline of Alex’s robe, and he captured his lips, kissing him hard, letting passion flare between them for several precious moments. Clark savored his low growl of need and the way he trembled as he pulled back. “Damn you,” Alex rasped. “Don't make this so hard.” Clark nodded, giving Alex’s cheek one last caress. Then he reached for the ring and twisted it. He faded away like a shadow, satchels, roses and all.

Alex collapsed to his knees and roared in despair.

*

The first thing Clark noticed when he returned to the cottage were the orchards. The apple trees were healthy and studded with the beginnings of fruit. The fields were freshly plowed and waiting for seed and corn. It was still early morning; the sun was still rising across the sky. He heard the hens squabbling and clucking in the yard, telling him his father was already up doing the chores.

“You, there! Are you looking for Mr. Kent?” Clark turned to find a young man roughly his age putting on a pair of work gloves.

“He’s my pa,” Clark offered. The stranger beamed, hurrying forward to shake his hand.

“He’ll be pleased as a pig in shit! He wasn't expecting you back! My name’s Bart, and your pa hired me to help him out with the harvest.” Clark’s face lit up.

“He did!”

“Aye, he did!” Bart grinned back and clapped his shoulder fondly. “He’s been doing well, lately, since his other ship was found.”

“They found it?” Clark was stunned.

“He’s in town today. He went in town with the twins, had his cart all packed up and everything.”

“So he’s selling again?”

“Not just dry goods, either. The herb garden did well this summer, and so did the corn. You’ll have a comfortable winter, most likely.” Bart eyed his packs and the tin. “Need help bringing anything in?”

“No. I can manage it.”

*

Clark found Feyora inside somewhat belatedly after he went up to put away his things. She squawked at him as he opened the door to his room.

Or her room, apparently.

His old bed was done up in rich, feminine-looking damask and pink linens to match the frilly curtains hanging over the windows. Small, colorful Persian rugs graced the floor. Shelves of perfume jars and figurines decorated the walls, and his bookcase was nowhere to be found.

“Clark?? What on earth…? Papa said you weren't coming back!” She was aghast, and it was hard to tell if she was glad to see him or not. Clark grinned.

“It’s good to see you, too, Fay-Fay.” She gave him a dirty look at the use of the hated nickname.

“Don't think you’re going to sleep in here.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Never in the middle of all that pink, with her cloying perfume polluting his lungs. “I’ll take the barn.”

“That’s where Bart stays,” she told him, folding her arms. “How long are you staying, anyway?”

“Just a month.”

“Why did you come back?”

“Because I knew my sister missed me so much,” Clark teased. 

“Don't bring your junk in here,” she said, protesting the two satchels currently sitting on her floor.

“S’not junk. I brought presents.”

“Oh…presents, you say?”

She finally gave him a proper hug after he dug out the fine scarves, glittering jeweled hair clips and kid slippers he brought back for her. She pawed through the remaining items, but she pouted when he informed her that they were for the twins.

*

Jonathan greeted his son much more eagerly than his sisters had, Clark decided, if the way he dropped the bolts of fabric he carried on the ground was any indication. Clark’s eyes stung. “Pa?” His voice was wobbly. “I’m home.”

“Clark…!” His face crumpled and he struggled for words.

“I’ve missed you, Pa.” His father rushed toward him, then stopped short.

“Don't hate me… For what I had to do. My son.., you’re finally home.” Clark nodded, then closed the remaining space between them, embracing him fiercely. Clark felt Jonathan’s tears warm his neck.

“I love you. I could never hate you, Pa.” His eyes squeezed shut as he breathed in his scent and clung to him. 

“He let you come back to me.” Jonathan’s voice shuddered, incredulous. 

“For a visit.” His father felt rangy and thin, and his shoulders were more stooped than Clark remembered. 

“But… You escaped?” Jonathan insisted.

“Pa, no. There was nothing to escape from. I’m all right. I’m better than all right. He’s treated me very well.”

“No! Clark, he’s a monster! He threatened our family! He took you away from me-“

“No,” Clark insisted firmly. His hands gripped Jonathan’s upper arms, trying to lend him strength. “Pa, he’s not a monster. He’s lonely. Wounded from being by himself for so long.”

“How did you find your way back?”

“The ring.” Clark held up his hand. Jonathan’s eyes widened.

“Get rid of it!”

“No. I won't. I need it to return to him.” Jonathan shook his head, frowning.

“You can't go back to that…creature. You can’t.”

“Pa. I have to. I told him I’d return in a month.”

“That’s too soon! I want you here!” Bart eavesdropped on their conversation briefly, confused with talk of “creatures” and “monsters.” He went back to cleaning out the pens as the twins took their turns embracing him.

“We kept your books, Clark,” Kara explained. “They’re in the attic, packed up in trunks.” Clark looked a bit crestfallen.

“Where will I sleep?”

“Clark, you can take my bed, I can take the barn-“

“No, Pa. I can take the barn. I don't mind.”

“Let’s move your bed out there, then,” Jonathan suggested. Feyora, however, screeched in protest at this suggestion. Clark shrugged and went up to the attic to retrieve her old bed for himself, leaving her with the bigger bed in his old room. It would be a cramped sleep, but it would have to do. Jonathan was apologetic as he helped him make it up with fresh blankets.

“Your sister missed you,” he explained. “She felt closer to you after you left when she took your room.” Clark smothered a laugh.

*

The next few days found Clark accompanying Jonathan to the marketplace, selling his wares and crops from his cart. He was a popular vendor, drawing dozens of shoppers with his fresh produce, fabrics and spices. “Bart sometimes helps me,” Jonathan explained. “The girls have a real gift for getting the sale.”

“Are they helping you, Pa?” Clark asked softly. Jonathan smiled and clapped his shoulder fondly.

“Yes, they are. We’re managing just fine, Clark. My ships came in. It took longer than I would've liked…” His voice trailed off. Clark looked away and cleared his throat. 

“You deserve good fortune, Pa.”

“You said he treated you well.” He looked him over. “He fed you,” he chuckled. 

“And very well.” Clark’s expression was fond. “I never had to cook. I never had to lift a finger.”

“We do miss your stew. Karen can make it without burning it, now.”

“It sounds like you’re doing fine without me.” Jonathan’s smile dropped.

“No! Don't think that! I’ve been so worried, Clark. All I could think about was if he was treating you properly, locked up in that house.”

“He didn't lock me up. I had free run of every room and of the garden. It was our favorite place to talk.” Clark’s voice sounded fond and peaceful. “We never ran out of things to talk about, Pa.”

“Clark, it’s over now. You’re home,” Jonathan reminded him.

“No. In three weeks, I will return home to Alexander.” Jonathan was confused and hurt.

“This is your home.”

“Pa… I feel my circumstances have changed. I want us to understand each other.”

“Son…”

“Pa, I think I love him.”

*

 

The next two days found them quarreling and scowling, neither of them willing to back down. Jonathan pleaded with him to remember his mother’s wishes, to find a kind, loving woman to marry and to make his own family with. Clark argued back just as hotly that the perfect person for him might not mean the perfect woman. Jonathan glared at him stonily and closed the door on him that night, and he was terse and brief with him the next day. The girls gossiped amongst themselves.

“Papa’s angry,” Feyora murmured, smirking. “Looks like Clark can do wrong, after all.”

“I don't want him to leave,” Kara told her. Karen nodded.

“Papa was in a bad way.”

“Papa got over it,” Feyora said dismissively.”Everything we do doesn't always have to rely on Clark.”

“Papa needs him,” Kara told them. “We need to convince him to stay.”

The twins were sweet toward Clark and tried to distract him from how upset Jonathan was, providing a buffer. He enjoyed their attention and funny stories and gossip. They enjoyed his accounts of things he’d learned and the beautiful music Alex often played for him. He danced them around the kitchen, showing them what he’d learned from his dreams of Lex, the handsome, lonely prince. He didn't tell them any of those details, didn't share with him that Alex became his lover. All he told them was that he had a promise and a deadline to keep.

*

Jonathan looked up from his bookkeeping at the sound of a knock. Feyora met him at his bedroom door with a cup of hot tea. “Papa, you’re up late.”

“The numbers won't work themselves out, dear.” He sipped the tea gratefully.

“How long is Clark staying, Papa?” Jonathan sighed, scrubbing his face.

“I really don't know.” 

“Didn't he mention something about another week?”

“He might have.” Jonathan went back to his books, adjusting his reading glasses. “He has a promise to keep. I learned during my brief experience with that creature that it’s vital to keep a promise to it. He has a temper and doesn't take being slighted lightly.”

Feyora’s eyes gleamed. “It was fortunate that you came back to us unharmed. And Clark.”

“Aye,” Jonathan agreed as he passed her his empty cup. “We were very fortunate, indeed.”


	10. Homecoming, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark returns to where his heart is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' fashioned happy ending, shmoop and all. By the time this reaches the Smallville new uploads, I'm sure it will be down at the bottom within 24 hours and get swept under the rug, but I had fun writing it. Thank you to anyone who has shown any interest in reading it til now.

Homecoming, Part Two

Summary: Clark returns to where his heart is.

Author's Note: Good ol' fashioned happy ending, shmoop and all. By the time this reaches the Smallville new uploads, I'm sure it will be down at the bottom within 24 hours and get swept under the rug, but I had fun writing it. Thank you to anyone who has shown any interest in reading it til now.

Alex had grown used to life without mirrors. Now, however, he was tempted to destroy all the clocks, too, if it would end his torment.

He often had to wander outside to escape the constant, maddening ticking, a mocking and hollow sound in his empty rooms. His loneliness before Clark's arrival had become rote and expected; he went through the motions every day of eating and sleeping alone, of lining up the chess pieces but never moving the first pawn. Clark's presence during those precious weeks filled in all of Alex's empty spaces, replacing the quiet with the deep rumble of his voice and pleasant chuckle, bringing sunlight into every room as soon as he crossed the threshold.

It was too cruel, having it all taken away from him, knowing how much he had lost. His heart felt squeezed and wrung dry. He watched the building autumn winds push the falling leaves into the air in swirling eddies, mingling with the rose petals whenever his prize bushes wept. Sleep was an infrequent visitor; his dreams had grown too dark, leaving him hollow-eyed and wretched every morning. Food lost its taste. Alex's skin stretched itself taut over his ribs and spine. Patches of his fur began to shed like mange and his proud ivory horns grew dingy and brittle.

He took to sleeping in Clark's empty suite, needing to surround himself with the fading remnant of his scent and his belongings. A few of his dark hairs still curled over the pillow, haunting Alex with the memory of how it felt to touch him.

He sat at the desk one day when he spied the edge of a piece of paper sticking out from the drawer. Alex tugged it open and made a sound of wonder when he found what looked like a pile of his sketches. "Oh, Clark... what've you done?" His hands trembled slightly as he paged through them.

A young man, bald yet vibrant and handsome, smiled up at him from the sketches. Seated at the piano that Alex seldom played - cajoled by Clark to revisit it and to stroke the gleaming ivory keys once more - or in the garden, focusing on a chess game, bending down to smell the star jasmine, leaning back mid-scull in a row boat, sitting on his favorite recliner ensconced in a book, all of the pictures were slices of life and drawn in such a loving hand. Alex was stunned. How had Clark known this side of him? His mind drifted back to those dreams, warm and hazy, fueled by things he hardly dared wish for when awake. Clark starred in them all... 

Alex's momentary delight in the sketches gradually faded into despair. Alex was still a monster. Clark would never know the man that he used to be. That man died on a stormy night, destroyed by his own selfishness. The man that he COULD be had too little time left, days flowing away like water.

Alex began to close off the rooms of the castle and gradually stopped leaving Clark's suite. He listened to the flock of crows chattering and screeching as they settled in the branches of the tall oak outside his window, musing. Through the curtains, he watched the last evening cloud shift from orange to rose, then to darkest purple before the whole sky grew black.

 

He wondered if Clark was thinking about him. Missing him.

Returning to him.

*

Clark paused in packing his clothing into his satchels, unburdened of the gifts that he'd brought for his family, when Feyora appeared in his doorway. Or her doorway, as he'd come to think of it. Home felt familiar to him, but less like his over the past handful of weeks, and he was anxious to return to Alex. The leaves outside were turning brilliant shades of red and gold, pooling on the ground faster than Bart could keep up with his rake. Clark tried to fall back into his routine of doing the chores on the farm, but Jonathan stopped him every time, reminding him that it wasn't his responsibility anymore, that he didn't have to feel as though he was obligated.

"Leaving us so soon, brother?" Her smile didn't convince him that she would miss him. A cat licking cream from its whiskers didn't look as satisfied as his older sister did at that moment.

"I need to get back." He nodded to the armoire. "You'll have all of your closet space back." Feyora chuckled, nodding.

"But it won't be the same without you. Papa was devastated when you left, you know. It was like losing Mother all over again for him." Feyora laid it on thick, and her face gradually grew solemn, blue eyes boring into his. "He won't tell you how much it wrecked him when you left before, Clark, or let on how much it will tear him apart when you leave again."

Clark frowned. "Pa understands why I have to leave! He told me he did, and that he understands why I have to get back!" 

*

They'd had a frank discussion regarding the nature of Clark's relationship with Alex. Clark steeled himself for his father's anger and disappointment when he revealed that his feelings toward him weren't just limited to friendship.

Jonathan had been silent for a while as he mulled it over. "I love him, Pa. I know you wanted me to take a wife, and to have children-"

"Clark. Look at me." It was difficult for him to obey, feeling shame burning in his cheeks. "You're being honest with me. You always have, and I love you for it." Clark's eyes pricked, and he forced himself to look at Jonathan fully. "Do you hear me? I love you. You're my son, and I'm proud of you. You're smart as a whip, and I trust you when you tell me that you've made up your mind about something. I would love for you to bring home a beautiful wife one day. I won't lie about that, Clark. Your mother wanted that for you, too. But... a daughter-in-law might not be in the cards for me. You said that Alex," and he paused a moment, still tempted to refer to him as "that creature" rather than his given name, only having the one encounter with him to go by, "has been kind to you." He cleared his throat. "Does he love you, Clark?"

"Pa, he hasn't said so, but I'm certain of it." Clark contemplated the words once they left his mouth. He considered the fact that he hadn't told Alex how he felt, either. That was something that needed to be remedied, and quickly.

Didn't it.

Clark got up from his seat and knelt beside his father where he sat, gripping his hand. "I will always come back if you need me, Pa. Staying with him won't change that." He reached into his pocket and handed him the mirror. "I can always see you with this." Jonathan huffed at the sight of the mirror, remembering the day that Alex bound him to his bargain.

"That's fine, Clark, but come home whenever you like, mirror be damned. You'll always be welcome here." He embraced him tightly, and Clark let out a shaky breath, wrapped up in his father's love, so relieved that it was still his.

*

Feyora eyed him carefully, giving him a look that he remembered whenever she'd caught him getting into her things when he'd been about five. "It seems odd that you would be so loyal to that creature, choosing him over your own family."

"That's not true," Clark shot back. "That's not how it is!"

"You love him more than you love us," Feyora accused. "More than you love Pa."

"Don't twist things around," Clark told her hotly. "That's not how it is at all." But her words stung. "Pa understands that I made a promise. He always keeps his, and I keep mine."

"True enough," she allowed, sighing. "It just seems odd to be so dedicated and loyal to this creature-"

"This man," Clark corrected her, fuming.

"-MAN that you were shoved at somewhat unwillingly not too long ago. Has it just been a few months since spring? You left when the new buds came up."

"I wasn't shoved anywhere. And I choose to be with him." Clark was fretting, however, and his gut knotted itself into a hard, uncomfortable ball. "You should be happy. You'll have my old room all to yourself."

"What about the twins? They're getting older. Boys have been coming around to court them." Clark had noticed. He'd even met one of them, James, the young, redheaded town crier. He was smitten with Kara and had brought her a humble bouquet.

"That's why Pa has a pitchfork," Clark told her with a shrug, even though his protective urges made him want to stay and "weed out the chaff" at the front door.

"You're their brother. You have a duty to look out for them."

"Feyora!"

"For all of us," she prodded, indicating herself as well. "Think about that before you desert us."

With that, she left, but he didn't see her satisfied smirk, having planted that little, burning seed of doubt in his heart.

 

Feyora valued her position in the family as the oldest child, even though Clark was the only son. As it was, he stood to inherit the farm and all of the family's property upon Jonathan's eventual passing. Over the years, she'd tolerated Clark and envied him so much for his unique gifts, yet she'd also resented him for being the apple of their father's eye, even though he was a foundling.

She wanted to dance for joy the day he left the farm, and her disappointment was bitter when he returned, bringing with him the promise that he would monopolize their father again, and that the sun would rise and set on his backside. Oh, how she resented him...

Feyora remembered her father's account of his encounter with the creature, how he stayed the night in his splendid castle in enchanted rooms, eating excellent food, sleeping warm and comfortable under a roof that didn't leak. She also remembered how fearsome Jonathan said he was, how heavy his threat hung over her father's head. Jonathan said the creature was powerful and strong; Feyora reasoned that he would perhaps be a match for her brother, remarkably strong though he was, he could plow the field without the use of a mule, several acres within minutes, and not feel tired.

He could likely tear her nuisance of a brother apart, then, couldn't he, if he felt that he'd been slighted, or that his bargain hadn't been honored? He was more beast than man, she reasoned; he was bound to have a terrible temper. If his disloyal, ungrateful houseguest didn't return when promised, then how warm of a greeting would he receive, really?

Horns. Deadly talons. Her father had described him with a shudder and fear in his eyes. She'd caught the tail end of Clark's heart-to-heart discussion with Jonathan through the door when he promised to come home whenever Jonathan wished him to, but Feyora decided she knew what was best for her father, namely not having to rely on his capricious son who obviously couldn't make up his mind where he belonged. 

With his loving family, or with a hideous beast. Obviously, she needed to guide his hand, and Fate's.

The beast would likely tear him apart. Feyora found the prospect delicious. She watched her younger sisters clamor around him in the sitting room moments later, with Clark trying to smile for them, accepting their teasing hugs, but there was doubt in his eyes and she could feel the strain on him.

Yes, she'd planted a hardy little seed.

*

 

  
Jonathan looked up in surprise from his place at the breakfast nook as Clark padded downstairs the next morning. He was still in his nightclothes - out of politeness - and yawning, looking like he wasn't headed anywhere soon.

"What time were you planning to head back to the castle, son?" Clark poured himself a cup of coffee from the dented kettle on the stove. He shrugged.

"I'm not in a big rush, Pa. I'll get going soon enough. I just... wanted to take a look around, see if anything needed securing before the first snow." Jonathan's face lit up.

"I was going to have Bart help with that, Clark, but I welcome another pair of hands. Especially yours. Have some bacon, if you want." Clark snagged a piece on his way back up to change into work clothes made from scratchy homespun and flannel. 

He spent the next several hours cleaning gutters, replacing roof shingles, securing the shutters, and clearing out a hive of mud wasps from the eaves of the barn. Clark shoed two of the horses and branded a young calf, put a new wheel on the wagon and replaced rotting boards in the henhouse floor. Bart scratched his head, wondering how much work, if any, Clark planned to leave for him. Feyora looked on from her perch by the window, working on her needlepoint while the twins tatted bits of lace.

"Wasn't Clark packing to leave?" Karen murmured to Kara, looking slightly bewildered. Her sister shrugged.

"That's the jist I got yesterday. Maybe he just misses us." They watched in amusement as Bart chased after Clark, who was striding with purpose toward the orchards, shears in hand.

*

By the fifth day, Jonathan finally broached the subject after Kara's young suitor, Jimmy, took his leave. Clark sent him off blushing and stammering after grilling him for an hour about his intentions toward his sister, much to Jonathan's amusement and his sister's annoyance. Jonathan gave Feyora a stony look where was smirking in the corner. What was wrong with that girl? he wondered.

"Clark, you don't have to do that. I can finish up." Clark was cleaning and blacking the stove. He inadvertently wiped a dark smudge onto his flushed cheek as he faced his father.

"It's no problem, Pa."

"No. I know it isn't. But don't trouble yourself with this. You need to finish packing, son." Clark smiled and shook his head.

"I don't want to leave you in a lurch or needing any-"

"You won't. You didn't. Son... I have to ask, are you feeling guilty about leaving?"

"What? No! Of course not, Pa! Why?"

"You don't seem as eager to leave as you did last week." Concern flickered in his blue eyes as he regarded Clark, squeezing his shoulder. "Is there something keeping you here that I should be aware of? Something you feel you need to do before you go?"

"Pa-"

"Because I don't want you to feel like you have to stay behind and carry us all and take care of every little crack, leak or bent nail. We're all adults. I'm selling enough goods to pay Bart to help out, and your sisters aren't little girls anymore. Clark... you're allowed to have your own life." He smiled at him. "Aren't you afraid that Alex will miss you?" Clark's smile faded.

"Pa-"

"No. Listen to me, Clark. I'm not getting any younger, but I'm still made of pretty stern stuff. I won't fall all to pieces as soon as you turn your back."

"Feyora said you... struggled when I left." Understanding dawned in Jonathan's eyes, and he nodded.

"Ah. Remember that your sister has a creative way with words and a tendency to exaggerate things a bit. Let's also remember that she's highly allergic to any chore heavier than lifting a teacup." Clark smirked, then sighed. "You'll always have a place here, Clark, but if you love Alex, and you told me you do-"

"So much," Clark insisted, before any more vehement declarations could escape him.

"Then you need to go back to him. Your place is with him. I don't need saving. Neither do your sisters. But he might."

"Don't let that Jimmy get any bright ideas about Kara," Clark reminded him.

"Don't plan to, son."

"Feel free to marry Feyora off, if you want, though."

"That's enough of that, son."

"Love you, Pa."

"Love you, too. Go. Finish packing." Clark left his blacking rags behind and went upstairs to wash up. He heard Feyora's indignant shriek following Jonathan's demand that she finish the task instead.

*

 

The first thing Clark noticed when he returned were the crows. The second thing was the snow. Thick, crusty drifts of glittering white crunched beneath his feet as he approached the estate; his thumb toyed errantly with the ring on his finger, and he wondered for a mad moment if it had brought him to the wrong place. An unseasonably brittle, howling wind whipped at his hair and clothing, and he was anxious to get inside. Fresh flurries were coming down, dancing around him blindingly.

The trees were blackened and stripped bare of their leaves, the branches' tips reaching like bony fingers toward the dark gray sky. Clark stared in disbelief. How had so much changed within those few weeks? A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "Alex," he whispered. He hurried for the door; it was stiff when he pushed it open, not giving way as he approached the way it had the night he arrived, and that worried him. "Alex!" he called out more urgently. "ALEX!"

He wandered through the house, and Clark noticed with growing alarm that none of the sconces were lit, and that there was no fire warming the great room. The entire house had a look of emptiness and neglect, and the air smelled stale. Cobwebs draped the corners of the ceilings and the window frames, and stray leaves crackled beneath his feet where they blew inside from a window that was ajar. Fear quickened his footsteps and Clark felt his heart pound.

"ALEX!" He ran upstairs, searching for him, listening for any signs of life, for Alex's familiar heartbeat... he would know that sound anywhere; it was the background chorus of his dreams. He rushed toward the library and found it, too, cold and empty.  
“ALEX, ANSWER ME! I’ve come back! ALEX!” He attempted to open the bedroom door to his left, but he found it locked. Clark kicked it open and it exploded in a hail of splinters. Alex wasn't inside, but the room held the same stale reek of mildew. Clark realized that he was wasting time and simply adjusted his vision, focusing through every door in the hall.

There. His old suite was closed up, but he saw a body curled up on the bed. He could see Alex rolling and shifting on the bed with his back turned to him, and he thought he heard, briefly, his hoarse reply.

Alex knew he was dreaming. It couldn't be Clark’s lovely, deep voice crying out for him, or his heavy footsteps outside his door. His vision was foggy from starvation and insomnia, and his frail body’s slide into hypothermia. But if this Clark who he was clearly hallucinating wanted to reach for him and cradle him against his warm bulk, who was Alex to complain?

“So…warm,” Alex murmured. “What’s this… Why so sad? Those…eyes of yours…shouldn't look sad.” Alex made a sound of self-disgust. “Now I’ve gone and made you cry. Don’t cry, sweet Clark. I can't bear it-“

“Alex,” Clark crooned, nearly sobbing. “I’m here with you. I know I waited too long. What happened to you?”

“My own poor judgment. Finally caught up to me.”

“Your skin feels like ice!”

“Goes well with my cold heart. I’m not a good man, Clark, don't you see?” Alex’s eyes were glazed and watery as Clark clung to him, rubbing his arms and back, sharing his heat.

“You’re a good man, Alex; don't be ridiculous. You’ve been so kind to me, and…I’ve been selfish. So selfish.” 

“No. That…that isn't right. You’re not selfish at all. You never could be. Clark, you’re so… Clark.” Alex chuckled in his delirium. “Lovely, sweet, smart… My Clark.” Alex shook his head and winced, and Clark noticed he had something gripped in his hand. He gently unfurled Alex’s fingers and found a slightly bruised white rose, it's thorns stained with Alex’s blood from clutching it so tightly. “Except you’re not my Clark, are you?”

“I am! Yes, Alex, I am!”

“You can't be. I’m not worthy of you. Not worthy of…” Clark watched in horror as Alex’s breaths started to rattle in his chest, and as the petals began to shed themselves onto the bedclothes. The room was freezing, windows ajar, letting the elements slowly kill Alex by exposure. Snow and leaves littered the floor, ruining the throw rugs and draperies. Clark noticed his sketches were bubbled and splotched, ruined by moisture where they lay scattered across the room.

“You’re worthy. Alex, don't say such things. I came back to you to stay. I won't leave you alone again. I told my father about you. That you’re the man I care about.” Alex shook his head, but hope flashed in his eyes.

“I’m no man. I’m a monster. You deserve someone worthy.”

Clark stroked his face, his breath misting warmly over Alex’s skin as he spoke. His tears were falling freely now, diamond trickles that darkened the cloth of Alex’s robe. “You are worthy. Don't speak so harshly about the man I love. I take exception to it, Lex.” Alex’s breath caught, and he clutched Clark’s wrist.

“What did you…call me? You mean, you-“

“I love you, Lex! I love you so damned much! Please don't leave me, even though I took too long to come back and tell you.” He kissed him, small, sweet caresses of his lips in concert with the strokes of his hands. “Don't leave me.”

“I s-saved you a r-rose to take to Martha.” Alex swallowed harshly and licked his lips. “And while we’re on the subject, Clark? I love you, too.” 

He caressed Clark’s jaw, cradling it, admiring his beauty, recognizing the love he saw in those green eyes at long last. “Alex?” Clark murmured.

“Yes, darling?”

“Why are you glowing?” Alex had no feasible answer for him; when he opened it, rays of golden light poured out from his mouth and eyes, streaming through his body, flowing out through his talons! The crumpled rose fell from his fingers, wilted and spent. His body convulsed and stiffened in Clark’s grip and the winds outside stopped howling abruptly, every crow in the tree outside the window falling silent. “ALEX!!!”

*

Day break.

Clark woke to someone gently shaking him, hovering over him. He grunted and rolled over to face them, squinting at the glare. 

A lovely redheaded woman stood over him, with the sun at her back. “Good morning, Mr. Kent. I trust you slept well?”

“Mnnngh… Hm? Wha-?” Clark yawned indelicately. 

“I’m Mercy, Mister Luthor’s housekeeper. We haven't met formally, dear. But I chose your linens for this room. I hope you liked my selections?”

“I…do. Thank you, Mercy.” Clark was bewildered. He looked down and saw he was tucked into bed, only wearing his breeches under the bedclothes. His leg nudged up against a warm limb. He jerked his glance away from her to the other person occupying his bed.

“Lex,” Clark whispered.

“He’s fair tuckered out,” Mercy said fondly. “Poor Ducky. Eustace cleaned him up a bit before putting you both to bed, but I know he’ll fancy a proper bath. I picked lovely, big bunches of lavender for it. He adores it.” Clark’s mouth was dry. He nodded hollowly.

“Yes. He does.”

“You look tired, sir. Perhaps cuddle down and rest a bit longer? I’ll have Cook see about breakfast.” 

“That’s…that’s fine, Mercy. Thank you.” She bobbed her head and bustled out.

Clark reached out and adjusted the covers, pulling them up over Lex’s bare, fair chest, wanting to bundle him against the slight draft. Mercy had just lit the fire, and it was still building, warming the now spotless chamber. There was no sign of snow or mildew or cobwebs. It was a lovely autumn day outside, and Clark listened to a flock of sparrows screeching as they took flight.

Alex woke up eventually to the feeling of a warm weight against his chest, one muscular leg draped around both of his. “Clark,” he rasped aloud. His eyes drifted open slowly as he took stock of where he was.

Clark’s dark curls tickled his lips. He was holding onto him tightly even in sleep, and his breathing was deep and even. “Clark,” Alex repeated. He combed his fingers through his soft locks and kissed his brow. Clark moaned and shifted against him, burrowing into his warmth and the supple smoothness of his skin. Alex squinted as he looked out the window, surprised to see the sun so high in the sky. It had to be close to noon, by his estimate.

“We missed breakfast,” Clark grumbled. Alex huffed a laugh and tightened his arms around him.

“We can have breakfast whenever you want, sweetheart. How did you sleep?”

“I couldn't tell if I was dreaming last night,” Clark confessed. “Everything was such a blur-“ Clark rubbed his eyes and yawned, and when he let his hand settle itself on Alex’s chest, flattening itself on the smooth plane of muscle, he came fully awake. “Lex?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s your fur?”

“Nowhere to be found.” He sounded pleased. “Long gone, until I end up cursed again, but I don't intend to antagonize a faerie again if I can help it.” Clark pushed himself up on his elbows and resettled himself so that Alex was caged in his arms, and Alex arched up into him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Clark Kent.”

“So are you. I thought I only dreamed you.”

“We rowed out onto the lake. I played for you.” Alex smiled, and his eyes – a sparkling blue gray with long lashes – crinkled with warmth. “Those dreams were nice. The ones where I lost you destroyed me.”

“I almost destroyed you, too. I didn't realize what was happening to you, Lex. I certainly would have come back sooner.”

“No. I couldn't tell you, Clark. It was part of the curse. You couldn't know. I had to win your love, not your pity. Things were looking a bit bleak for a while.” Clark sighed and settled down against him again, feeling Alex’s embrace tighten around him.

“Loving you wasn't hard. Cookies, books and chess pretty much did the trick.” Alex chuckled and kissed his hair.

“Then I’d been doing it all wrong, all those years, apparently.” Wining. Dining. Fine gifts. Passionate yet ultimately meaningless sex. Those were the tools in Alex’s box. Yet none of them saved him from the lonely death he deserved.

The green-eyed farm boy with the irresistible smile who gave him the sky did that, and he looked rather pleased with himself about it. Alex cuddled him more tightly and tugged the blankets more securely around them, sealing in their warmth.

“Are you cold?”

“A little. I have to get used to plain, old bare skin again.”

“Then maybe I need to help warm you up.” Clark gave Alex a wicked smile that made his stomach flutter. He rocked his hips against him under the covers, and Alex felt his manhood waking and twitching between them. 

“Maybe you do,” he murmured as Clark’s mouth captured his. He moaned at how good and how right it felt, Clark’s hips rocking against him in concert with the kisses that were growing more insistent and hotter. Alex reached between them to grip Clark’s cock, and it jerked within the ring of his fingers, earning him a low whine of need. The engorged head was rosy and smooth as silk, twitching and seeking out warm flesh, buffeting against Alex’s own straining erection. Alex lined them up so that Clark’s thrusts pushed both of them into his hand; droplets of precum slicked their flesh, easing their smooth glide against each other.

Alex rolled them so that Clark lay on his back and resumed his place, thrusting against him and controlling their pace. Their hands roamed over firm, chiseled muscle and taut skin. They made love in a tangle of limbs, filling the room with low cries and gasps. Alex prepared Clark, skillfully stretching him with fingers coated in lavender-scented oil and massaging his prostate. “No claws,” Clark rasped.

“No claws,” Alex repeated as he twisted and scissored his fingers. “No horns.” He lined himself up and wrapped Clark’s long, beautifully tapered legs around his torso. “No fur.” 

“Please,” Clark groaned. “Lex…”

Clark’s eyes squeezed themselves shut, head tipping back into the pillows as Alex thrust himself inside his pulsing heat. “So tight,” he hissed.

“It’s been a month and a half,” Clark reminded him. Alex chuckled and began to move, making further dialogue impossible. Clark clamped around Alex, squeezing him and earning himself harder, pounding thrusts. Shocks of pleasure hit his sweet spot and he felt his climax working its way down his spine. Alex’s eyes were dark with passion, hips moving in sharp, determined snaps, his sac drawn up into a rock-hard ball that slapped against Clark’s ass. Alex stood at the precipice, staring over the edge, heart pounding…

It was like flying. Wrapped up in Clark’s joy and heat.

They fell over the edge together, then collapsed against each other, sated. Alex shivered with Clark’s light caress of his bare scalp. “Feels so different,” he mused. Alex chuckled into his neck.

*

They lingered in bed most of the day, only rising long enough to eat and bathe, making generous use of the lavender and fine soap. Mercy and Eustace cleaned up after their bath. Clark waited until they stepped out to ask the burning question.

“Where did they come from?”

“They were always here, Clark. When I was cursed, I was told that I would live alone, cursed by my own black heart. All of my servants lived within these walls, taking care of us, feeding us, keeping everything where we needed it. It was part of the enchantment. They just couldn't talk to me.”

“You must've been so lonely, Lex.”

“How did you know that’s what I like to be called? I never told you that name before.”

“You did in my dreams.” Clark rolled and reached for one of his discarded sketches. “I saw you like this when I slept. This ridiculously handsome, cocky young man kept flirting with me and taking liberties. They were interesting dreams…” Clark grinned. Alex swatted him upside the head with a pillow. Clark sighed and laid back, staring up at him with a rapt expression. “I felt like I was being unfaithful.” Alex shook his head, incredulous.

“Why?”

“Because my heart already belonged to you. Horns, fur and all. I love you.” Alex gave him a long-suffering sigh.

“Damn it, Clark.”

“What?”

“I had plans to get out of bed today. Then you say things like that.” Alex threw up his hands in defeat, then pulled Clark beneath him and kissing him hard. “See what you’ve done?” he murmured against his lips. Clark’s only reply was a sigh of pleasure and welcoming embrace as he showed Alex, once more, that he loved every inch of him, furred or smooth.

*

 

Clark pledged himself to Alex and wore his ring, the only jewelry he would ever allow Alex to give him. They made a life together in their bustling castle teeming with servants and their families. Alex began holding extravagant balls and parties, and the sound of piano music drifted outside through the solarium doors. Clark returned with his husband to the Kent farm and rebuilt his family home larger and grander than before, hiring more help for Jonathan to tend the crops. Jonathan lived a soft life for his remaining years, Clark’s sisters each got married, and the farm was soon swarming with grandchildren that warmed his heart. They were in turn spoiled by their two doting uncles, who had plenty of room at the castle to come and visit.

Clark and Alex celebrated their anniversaries with trips to Martha’s resting place, laying dozens of white roses in front of her headstone, thankful to her, after a fashion, for bringing them together.

**Author's Note:**

> I know. I suck. There are patches of italics that take up entire paragraphs where it should only be one sentence. The HTML uploaded hates me, yet when I try rich text, the paragraph breaks disappear.


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